


Blood of an Englishman

by mongoose_bite



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Wizards, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Fix-It, Harry Hart Lives, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, but he also dies, it's a bit complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-03-23 08:25:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 70,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3761452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mongoose_bite/pseuds/mongoose_bite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's brains dried in the hot Kentucky sun. A fly landed on an exposed piece of his skull for a few seconds and then buzzed off. His blood seeped into the dust. In the distance sirens began to wail, and the crisp, elegant click of patent leather oxfords on concrete drew to a halt beside his ruined corpse.</p><p>“Oh dear,” someone said sadly, although Harry wasn't alive to hear it. He heard, saw, felt, and was, nothing.</p><p>Death is not another country. Death is the deep blue sea.</p><p>Or, the one in which Harry is officially dead, actually a wizard, occasionally a small dog, and utterly unable to keep his distance from his young successor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Кровь англичанина](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11919123) by [dashustrik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashustrik/pseuds/dashustrik), [Owlnika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owlnika/pseuds/Owlnika)



> I'm not sure what counts as major character death. I mean, sometimes people get better. You'll see what I mean. But if you think the fic does need a Major Character Death warning, please let me know and I'll change it.

Harry's brains dried in the hot Kentucky sun. A fly landed on an exposed piece of bone for a few seconds and then buzzed off. His blood seeped into the dust. In the distance sirens began to wail, and the crisp, elegant click of patent leather oxfords on concrete drew to a halt beside his ruined corpse.

“Oh dear,” someone said sadly, although Harry wasn't alive to hear it. He heard, saw, felt, and was, nothing.

Death is not another country. Death is the deep blue sea.

Swift, long-fingered hands removed the shattered remains of his Kingsman glasses, the signet ring from his finger, the watch from his wrist; he'd exhausted all other resources and his holsters were empty.

“Didn't you say you used to enjoy Latin? Won a prize for it or something? Rather you than me.” A throat clearing, the rustle of a notebook, and words; a dead language for the dead.

Harry felt, now that Harry again existed to feel, a cloying sensation, of his own bones clad in dead meat, the useless twitch of the last thousand dying neurons, the sludge in his stomach, the blood clotting in his veins. The burn of the sun in his eyes-

Harry shut them, but the red dark behind his eyelids reminded him of dying and he opened them again.

“Hello, old chap.”

Rather than the deep blue sky, he found himself looking up into James's smiling face.

“Up you get.” James held out his hand and Harry took it, letting his old friend pull him to his feet. He was starting to understand. He glanced behind him and saw his own corpse lying at his feet, half his head gone.

Dead. That's right. So much left undone. Eggsy. Too late to regret. Decided not to think of it.

But it was decent of them to send a familiar face, he thought.

“Deep breath,” James said. “Rather a shock, isn't it?”

The old Lancelot looked much as he'd always done. He wasn't wearing glasses, but he never did, the vain bugger, Harry thought affectionately, and he was wearing a proper suit at least rather than a pair of angel wings. New by the looks of it, but with rather interesting stitching around the collar. It reminded Harry of the old Tristan; he was left handed and had a unique way of hand-stitching his work.

The sirens were getting louder, but Harry supposed it wasn't likely anyone could see either of them.

“So,” Harry said, bracing himself but keeping his voice steady. “Am I going up, or down?” Asked any other time, he would have stood confidently by his record as a Kingsman and a gentleman, but the events of the last fifteen minutes of his life had reminded him of the trail of corpses he'd left in his wake all through his career. He could justify them to himself, maybe, but if he was to be judged and found wanting he had too much blood on his hands, old and new, to protest.

“Neither, I'm afraid.” James said, and Harry felt swooping relief in his gut. “No rest for the wicked, and all that. Not for a Kingsman, anyway.” James stooped down and settled the remains of the glasses back on what was left of the corpse's face. Harry's hand drifted up to his own temple, braced for what he might find there, but all he felt was the familiar skin of his own forehead, whole and warm. Well, James was in one piece, wasn't he? It made as much sense as any of this did.

James slid the signet ring back on the dead Harry's finger, the watch on his wrist, and stood up. To Harry's surprise, he smiled; that familiar cheeky grin that told him James was going to enjoy whatever he was going to say next.

“You're not dead, my friend. Not any more. You're a wizard, Harry.”

Harry didn't appreciate James's smile; he felt put-upon and tired and afflicted by a kind of nameless fear that was bone-deep, and that he didn't dare think about. He didn't feel like James's jokes right then. Nevertheless, Harry was determined not to go to pieces over it. Whatever was happening it would sort itself out eventually, and in the meantime he just had to carry on carrying on.

And not think about the abyss, not remember that deep blue sea.

“Am I to attend a boarding school in Scotland?” he asked.

Of course he'd read the bloody books. All the Kingsmen had read the bloody books. Harry had found them charming enough, but he hadn't seen any reason to obsess over them either.

“No,” James said. “You do have a great deal to learn, but right now we need to get out of here before the forces of what passes for law and order in this country arrive.”

He set off at a brisk pace and Harry fell into step beside him. He kept his eyes trained forward, refusing to look back at the eerily quiet church and the body sprawled in front of it.

Instead he filled James in on what had happened since his death.

“We have to get this information back to Headquarters,” he said. “If Valentine activates his device worldwide, the results will be catastrophic. This was just his test-run and it was a roaring success. He has no reason for further delay and he must be stopped. Get on to Merlin-”

“Harry.” James stopped. They were blocks away from the church by now, and Harry could feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck (and he was so glad of it, so glad because the alternative was the deep blue sea and all the discomfort in the world was better than—do _not_ think of it.) They'd left the white picket fences behind and were now strolling down a street lined with dime stores and pawn shops and foreclosure signs. “Merlin has the feed from your glasses; they know as much as you do.”

“But we have to-” James was smiling sadly and sympathetically, and Harry knew what was coming next, logically, but he had to put up a token protest.

“We can't go back. To them we are dead and we must remain so. Kingsman is a secret within a secret, and always has been. You must know if we'd had any choice this wouldn't all be a surprise to you.”

“All the Kingsmen still live?” Harry thought of his own patron, of his friends who'd died on the job, but James's expression forestalled any celebration.

“Good lord no. We're not invulnerable. We just get a second chance.” James frowned, “You are right though. This Valentine; we need to prepare for the worst. I'm sure the Kingsmen will stop him, but if they don't.” He shook his head. “I need to talk to Arthur. How much time do you think we have?”

“Hours at least. I can't imagine Valentine would activate his devices until he was somewhere safe.”

James nodded, took out a small signalling mirror, and said Arthur's name, and Arthur's voice—the old Arthur, whom Harry barely remembered, pencil thin and quiet, unassuming in a strangely terrifying manner—answered.

Harry listened to James's report with half an ear, his mind elsewhere. More specifically, his house. He'd left his feed open, as Eggsy could have learned a lot from seeing him work but instead he must have seen him die.

He could only imagine what Eggsy was going through. The boy was so soft-hearted he couldn't shoot his own dog, and as angry as Harry had been at the time, part of him hadn't been surprised. He cared so much, too much, and he knew Eggsy cared a great deal about Harry himself. He replayed their last conversation in his mind and felt even worse; he'd died at the worst possible time. They'd been angry and defensive and he'd known, almost as soon as he'd left the house, that apologies would be owed on both sides. He'd drafted his in his head on the plane.

He had no idea what Eggsy would do now and he hoped it wasn't anything stupid. Realistically, however, it was probably going to be something stupid.

If he could just have one conversation with him, patch things up. Tell him he still believed he had promise. It wouldn't be hard to get in touch, one way or another.

Harry knew he wouldn't. Unlike Eggsy, he'd shot his dog. He'd do as duty demanded and disappear, and trust Eggsy would make something of himself one way or another. He was going to miss him, and he was so sorry.

James put his mirror away. “Feeling all right, Harry?”

Harry supposed it would be a wrench for anyone, that he wasn't the first to go through this, and all in all he had nothing to complain about, really. At least he had no close family, no spouse, and his true friends were fellow Kingsman; they'd understand that sudden death was always on the cards. They'd cope. He didn't even have a dog any more.

Only Eggsy, and Eggsy was strong; he'd get through it.

“Just a touch light-headed,” he said. “Light everything, actually.” He felt insubstantial, fragile, just sea foam on the edge of dissolving into the deep blue-

“I nearly forgot,” James said, searching his pockets. “Eat some of this, you'll feel a lot better.” He handed him one of the little jam jars that you got in Fortnum and Mason's picnic baskets, but it didn't have jam it it. Harry unscrewed the lid and looked at the dark powdery substance inside.

“What is it?”

“Dirt. I took the worms out first, which is more than Hector did for me when I went through this, but we never did see eye-to-eye.” James seemed quite serious, and Harry wondered if the entire day had been some sort of dream.

When in Wonderland, he thought, and tipped the contents of the jar into his mouth. It tasted like dirt. Every instinct told him it wasn't something to eat and he fought the urge to cough as he swallowed, grit between his teeth, grimacing as he tried to work some spit into it to make it a bit easier to get down.

“Better?” James asked, once he'd swallowed it.

It was better, he realised. He felt more awake, more solid, more _real_.

“English soil,” James continued. “Our souls are a bit, well, _looser_ than other people's now, but we draw strength from our connection to the land we are sworn to defend. We've spilled our life's blood in her service, after all.”

“What now?” Harry asked, tonguing the last bits of dirt out of his teeth. He missed the weight of the watch on his wrist and the glasses on his face. He felt unprepared and vulnerable without them, but he was far from helpless.

“Arthur agrees with us; we have to prepare for the worst. There are people out there whose potential power rivals that of an atom bomb. If Valentine's mind control gets to them the kind of chaos they could cause is unimaginable. We've contacted the various other, erm, interested parties,but time is of the essence so we've put all but the most vital tasks on hold to find these people and secure them as soon as possible.”

James started walking again. “We'll be going to New York, since we're the closest agents on hand. The Americans have always granted us permission to use their bar to pick up our own should they die on US soil, and I doubt they'll be happy about us using it for other purposes but we can argue about who trod on whose toes first later.”

“Bar?”

“The Americans do insist on being a bit dramatic. Naturally we have a travel agency.” James smiled and halted in front of one of the most decrepit looking dives Harry had ever seen. In daylight the dusty fluorescent buzzing out the front looked sick and on the verge of flickering out all together. Discordant music and the smell of alcohol drifted out of the partially-open door. It didn't seem to have a name.

When they stepped inside, Harry could feel a kind of subterranean rumble under his feet, distinct from the music. The bar was crowded and hazy, even though it was early afternoon and no one seemed to be smoking. There was something off about the whole thing; Harry could read people, read crowds and places like other people would read a newspaper, but everyone seemed out of focus, and his eyes slid away from people's faces without recognising them. He couldn't keep track of anyone, whether or not they were standing still.

“I'm afraid we don't have time to stop off for a burger,” James said, as he elbowed his way through the crowd.

“We should be grateful for small mercies then,” Harry replied.

James approached the bar and one of the barmaids, a tired-looking woman in her thirties, her dreadlocks bound up in a scarf, raised her eyebrows at him.

“Manhattan, if you would be so kind,” James said, and slid a coin over the bar.

She scooped up the coin, barely glanced at it and nodded, “On your way then, sirs.”

James indicated Harry should follow and made his way back out through the crowd. Harry grabbed James's arm.

“There's something wrong with this place,” he muttered.

“Yeah, you can feel it, can't you?” James pushed open the door. “Magic, Harry. You'll get used to it.”

When Harry saw what was on the other side of the door, he wasn't sure he believed him. Believed in magic, yes, but that he'd get used to it was a different story.

Gone was the dusty and deserted streets of a small Kentucky town, and in its place was the dull roar of New York. They found themselves in the maelstrom that was lunchtime Manhattan foot traffic; a thousand people a minute coming into and out of view. Soaring skyscrapers bracketed streets choked with cars, and Harry was so stunned by the sudden change of location that he nearly stumbled on the low step as they exited the bar, which looked no more inviting than it had in Kentucky.

He realised his jaw was sagging and he shut it with a snap. James just looked smug.

“It's not all bad, is it? Beats flying.”

Harry took a deep breath. Just carry on carrying on, he reminded himself, even if the animal part of him wanted to wail and hide.

“Who are we here to see?”

“Letizia Vico.” James stepped to the curb and hailed a cab. “If anyone can be said to rule New York, it's her. No wizard sets foot on this island without her permission.”

“Rather like what we're doing now?” Harry asked, as he got into the cab.

“Yes, well,” James frowned, looking a little uneasy for the first time. “We'll have to hope she finds our reasons for doing so adequate.”


	2. Chapter 2

James gave the driver an address, took his glasses out of his pocket, put them on, and took them off again.

“Still not your style?” Harry asked.

James frowned. “You shouldn't even be here. _I_ shouldn't even be here; I've only been doing this for a few months, after all and you- look. Just let me take the lead. Hopefully you won't need to do anything.”

“What is it Kingsman really do, James?”

“Make amends, mostly. Three hundred years of empire leaves a lot of wreckage. We try and fix past mistakes, prevent future mistakes and, always, defend England, whether the threat is external or comes from one of our own.”

“One of our own?”

“A government as old as ours will always have a few wizards in it, and the temptation to use magic to further our interests is ever-present, and tends to leave the kinds of messes that we're still cleaning up hundreds of years later. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”

The cab drew to a halt outside a large, fashionable building.

They didn't stand out at all in their suits, even if Harry's was still slightly bloodstained. James paid the driver and they entered the marble tiled lobby. A handsome young man with a very expensive haircut and wearing clothes just a shade too casual sat behind a desk in the foyer; there was no indication if the building held offices or apartments. He looked up from his screen as they entered.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

“Hello. I'm afraid we don't have an appointment, but we must speak with Ms Vico on a matter of great importance and urgency.”

“I'm afraid that's not possible,” he said blandly, before James could continue.

“Would it help if I-”

“Not really.” A brief, barely polite smile. “My apologies.”

James sighed and leaned on the desk, “Would it be possible to make an appointment then?” he asked, his finger tapping on the marble counter-top. Harry knew what that meant.

Harry put on an apologetic look, as if he knew all this was useless but they had to go through the motions.

“Ms Vico is not in the habit of making appointments, sir.”

James leaned further forward, as if trying to get a look at the screen, “Well then we'll have to leave a message. But we simply can't leave empty-handed.”

The man glanced up, irritated at James's unexpected invasion of his professional space and he half-rose out of his chair to put himself between James and the screen. As soon as his attention was focused, Harry casually reached over, grabbed a handful of his artfully gelled hair and slammed his head down onto the counter-top. Not too hard. Hard enough. Unprepared for an attack from an unexpected direction he obligingly slithered to the floor, barely concious.

“At least he's human,” James muttered.

“I don't see any cameras,” Harry said, having given the room a once-over as soon as he arrived.

“She doesn't need them. She'll know we're here. Come on.”

Harry glanced at the screen, but the only thing open was the Facebook page of the hapless receptionist.

The lift opened as soon as James touched the button.

“We're not trying to sneak in,” James said. “Going in without masks is, I hope, the equivalent of our hands in the air.”

The lift didn't wait for them to guess at a floor. It went up, and up, and Harry thought they were at or near the top when the doors opened again.

They were in someone's living room. A living room the size of a house, indicating a house the size of the entire top floor. Everything was natural materials; rugs on the stone and wood floor and earthenware pots on the wooden shelves. Most of it looked like it cost a small fortune to Harry's trained eye. There were pot plants by the huge glass windows, rosemary and sage and other herbs and flowers.

He didn't have time to admire the restrained taste or the wealth of whoever lived here. He was too busy ducking out from under the grasp of one of the poker-faced men who'd been waiting for them. Harry jabbed one in the eye with his elbow and the man barely flinched. His face felt cold and damp through the sleeve of Harry's suit.

“Shit,” James muttered, and vaulted a hardwood coffee table. “Hold them off! I'll try and get rid of them. And try not to break anything!”

Harry had identified at least twenty-five objects in the room that could be lethal in his hands, and he sighed when he was forbidden from using any of them. Then again, they had barged in uninvited; the least they could do was be polite about it and refrain from making a mess.

He staggered as he deflected a blow aimed at James's head. This guy hit like a truck. James himself had taken out a piece of chalk and was scribbling all over the hardwood floor with it.

These men were not fast, and they didn't fight smart. In fact, they fought like he imagined store mannequins would, if such a thing were likely. He was getting bruised and battered, but he'd refrained from using any priceless bits of furniture to defend himself.

And then he saw the cobra and life got a little more difficult.

“James!”

It slithered across the room, hood flared and head raised. Harry didn't think; he lashed out with his foot and the snake went flying, thumping into the wall. The men were secondary considerations; the snake was lethal and fast and once it disappeared under a rug they'd never find it again. Harry went after it while it was still stunned, nearly knocking over a vase as he went past. He grabbed it and righted it just in time.

The snake was slowly uncoiling where it had fallen.

“Kill it!” James snapped, having risen to his feet to defend himself in Harry's absence. The men ignored the implicit threat of the gun in James's hand, and he lashed out with it with what should have been cheekbone-shattering force.

All Harry had to do was bring his heel down on its head to crush its skull. He could hear James tussling with their opponents and he raised his foot.

He realised the lift was moving.

Harry flicked a glance at James, then back at the lift, and then he braced himself, stooped down and grabbed the snake just behind its head. He didn't really like snakes, and he suppressed a shudder as he lifted it up.

The lift doors opened, and a woman walked into the room. She was tall and in her mid-fifties, long silver hair framing her face and draped halfway down her back. She was wearing an elegant designer dress just above the knee that matched her jewellery and fit her flawlessly, and heels that added at least another two inches to her height.

James straightened his suit and ran a hand over his hair. The cobra tried to coil around Harry's arm and he gripped it firmly.

“Well, what a thing to come home to,” Letizia—who else could it be—said. She spoke with an accent that Harry was sure was pure Italian with American on top, rather than Italian-American.

“We really must apologise for this,” James said. “It was inexcusably rude.”

“Yes,” she said, looking them both up and down. “Kingsmen, right? Always so nicely turned out.”

She walked over to Harry, with a long, confident stride, and held out her hand. “My familiar, if you would.”

Harry attempted to hand her the cobra but she didn't grasp it, simply letting it slither up her arm and flick its forked tongue against her ear. He got the impression it was talking to her.

“What's your name?” she asked.

“Harry Hart at your service, Madam.” She held out a beautifully manicured hand and he dutifully placed his lips on it. When he raised his head he realised the two men had gone and he hadn't sensed them leave. It wasn't like they'd moved it was just as if they suddenly weren't there. He didn't like that much.

There were two men's hats sitting on the floor. There was something vaguely nauseating about them. He looked away, his eyes watering slightly. He realised this whole apartment made the back of his neck prickle, now he had time to consider it. His eyes and brain told him he was in a penthouse apartment in New York, but the light falling from the lamps felt natural; he could practically smell the sun on hot brick, the olive groves outside, the buzzing of bees. His heart told him he was in a villa in Tuscany; he could almost feel the breeze, but when he tried to concentrate on it, the sensation slipped away.

“You could have killed my familiar,” Letizia said. “I appreciate that you didn't, at some risk to yourself. You have my gratitude, spend it wisely.” She turned away slightly to address them both. “You are, currently, only still breathing because of the reputation of the Kingsmen. This better be good.”

Harry realised he was probably facing a grandmaster of a game the rules of which he didn't know.

James hastily started to explain why they were there, and Letizia halted him halfway though his explanation and invited them both to sit down. She served espresso in tiny little cups, her cobra still draped across her shoulders, the snake watching them languidly.

Harry looked at the coffee. Letizia had picked up the hats and placed them back on a stand near the lift, and the sense of wrongness had lifted. Harry still didn't feel very comfortable.

“Relax, Mister Hart. Drinking it won't bind you to seven years in my service,” she said, the corner of her mouth turned up in amusement.

It was excellent coffee.

“We have faith that the Kingsman will stop Valentine in time, but if that is not the case, for the safety of yourself and the city, we recommend you move to somewhere out of range of the signal,” James said.

“I will not,” Letizia said sharply. “This device is mechanical, not ethereal, correct? What manner of mechanics is it?”

“Possibly some sort of sound wave,” Harry said, speaking up for the first time. “It's emitted from the sim cards Valentine's been distributing. I had absolutely no defence against it. I recall coming to my senses briefly after a grenade went off; my ears were ringing.”

“I will not hide. I have a responsibility to this city,” Letizia said. “And if I can defend her, I will.”

“Do you have a plan?” James asked.

“Valentine isn't using magic, so I cannot dispel it, but I could override it. I could put everyone to sleep, with a large enough ritual.” She looked out the window, her expression focused, like a climber eyeing an unconquered peak.

“That's brilliant!” James said.

She raised an eyebrow. “It's not ideal. I won't reach everyone, and those I do reach; every driver, every surgeon, every factory worker, will fall asleep on the job. People will probably die. But it will be better than what Valentine has planned.”

Letizia set her cup down on the saucer.

“If that's what I must do then I need to get to work. If that's all, gentlemen?”

“Yes.” James couldn't quite hide his relief as he thanked her.

She walked them to her lift, and Harry now suspected she was the only occupant of the entire building.

“You're new, aren't you?” she asked him as he shook her hand. “I can see it; you've just washed ashore.”

The deep blue sea. It was inside him somehow. Inside him and out there and before and behind him. He wished she hadn't mentioned it.

“I'm sorry,” she said. She had beautiful brown eyes and it was impossible to tell what she was really thinking, but Harry surprised himself by being suddenly grateful for her words. “They put you through a lot, don't they? To make you what you are.”

“I don't quite know what I am right now,” Harry confessed.

“You're a Kingsman,” James said, and frowned. Letizia was, after all, not entirely to be trusted and Harry understood that, but she'd been more than reasonable and he felt she understood how things worked in this new world.

“Is there anything more we can do to help?” Harry asked her.

“No, if Valentine succeeds I think we'll all know. I need to buy some noise-cancelling headphones and do a bit of walking. Good luck, Kingsmen.”

He bid her farewell and they rode down in silence.

“I like her,” Harry said, mainly because he knew James didn't.

“That's only because you don't know what she's capable of.”

“She seemed quite sensible.”

“Well, you don't run this city for as long as she has without exercising some restraint, I suppose. I think we were very lucky. Anyway, we need to get you back to England as a first priority.”

“How do we get to England? Ride a dragon?”

“Don't be ridiculous, Harry. There's no such thing. We'll be travelling first class British Airways. Unfortunately our fleet has been scrambled to deal with Valentine's threat.”

Harry sighed deeply. Once you got used to the Kingsman private jets, going back to public transport was always a bit of a trial.

“I know. But the sooner we get back to base the sooner we can get you up to speed on all of this. The sooner you learn to harness your power the better.”

“What did Letizia mean by us being put through a lot?” Harry asked, as they watched the numbers tick down.

James frowned, “Wizards are born, not made, usually. She didn't have to die to get her power. Kingsmen do; resurrect someone from the dead, I mean, really resurrect them, and they'll be reborn a wizard. At least, that is my understanding. Merlin can explain this better than I could; best save your questions for him. I'll see if I can raise Arthur and let him know we were more than successful. If Letizia can defend New York, even partially, we've potentially saved thousands of lives.”

That's how it worked, you killed and counted up the lives you'd saved and balanced the numbers against each other. Two dozen people in a church to save two hundred thousand somewhere else. You couldn't really argue with numbers of that size, and Harry had never tried.

When they left Letizia's building, the receptionist had been replaced by a different youth, who nodded politely to them has they went past. Harry wondered if the first had been given the day off to recover or if he'd been fired for failing to stop them. Or turned into a toad. Or worse.

She had a pet cobra, he reminded himself.

James frowned and the stood on the pavement out of the stream of traffic. “I can't raise Arthur.” He held the mirror in the palm of his hand, so it wasn't obvious what he was looking at to casual passers by. “Merlin.”

“Lancelot! Report.” Harry remembered this Merlin; a surprisingly young, softly-spoken lad who kept books of poetry next to his manuals and was killed by a prototype of the lighter grenade after being in the job only two years. It was good to hear him again, and although he sounded no older, his voice was authoritative now. Gone was the shyness Harry remembered.

“Galahad and I have secured Ms Vico's co-operation; she's going to attempt to override Valentine's signal with her own, in a manner of speaking. Are we cleared to come home?”

Harry desperately hoped they were. He felt about a thousand years old, and he was hungry and tired and bruised and he needed some time to stop and think and process what had happened. He was also dreading having to stop and think and process what had happened.

“Yes, you'd better get back. Things have gone a bit to shit here, I'm afraid.”

“Valentine?” James asked.

“We don't know. Arthur's dead.”

“ _What?_ How?”

“We don't know that either. Obviously we can't wait for Galahad to do it so Gawain's fishing him out of the sea as we speak. Maybe he had a heart attack. Chester had to be getting on a bit.”

“Pretty bloody awful timing for a heart attack,” Harry muttered, not believing a word of it. He'd seen Chester only the day before and he'd been healthy as a horse.

James merely nodded.

“Understood. We'll head back at once.” He put the mirror away. “I'll teach you some magic tricks on the plane if you want.”

“I think that would be a very good idea,” Harry replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Eggsy.


	3. Chapter 3

Eventually Eggsy just dropped.

Merlin and Roxy had both told him to stop, but ultimately it was his own body that put an end to what he knew was nonsense. He’d been rambling, barely making sense, by the time they made it back to Kingsman HQ, Merlin scrambling everyone to deal with the fallout of Valentine’s Day, as it had inevitably been dubbed. Eggsy had demanded to be taught how to fly the jet and Merlin had humoured him to the extent of letting him sit in the co-pilot’s seat. He knew he was being humoured and it irritated him but the alternative was to sit in the back and have Roxy force him to try and sleep.

If he didn’t stop, he didn’t have to think.

But he stopped anyway.

All three of them were exhausted and Eggsy found himself reeling into one of the sitting rooms and collapsing face-down on one of the fancy and uncomfortable antique couches. He’d find a more comfortable position, he told himself, nap for an hour or two, and get right back to it.

He woke up about twenty hours later with a stiff neck, a sore arse, a raging thirst and Harry’s death replaying behind his eyelids. He fell off the couch and tumbled to the floor with a startled yell, and he flailed about against something restraining him before realising someone had draped a blanket over him.

It was dark, and he was glad of it. He slumped on the floor and everything caught up with him, and he let it, unable to fight it off any longer.

He wondered if Harry had started collecting all those newspaper headlines because the victories didn’t feel real. The real bits were the bad ones. Killing Valentine and realising he couldn’t make him any more dead. Those moments where he was sure he was going to die himself. Arthur’s dying rage and contempt. Making it back to the jet and Merlin telling him he'd have to go back.

Fucking _crying_ while being pegged by a princess and telling her that the teary eyes were because he’d never been done up the arse before, and not because he felt like he was cheating on someone he’d never been with in the first place.

He'd never really thought about Harry like that, not seriously- It was too late now.

He’d surprised her when he agreed to let her top, and he’d surprised himself by agreeing to go to bed with her in the first place. But it was the done thing, wasn’t it? Rescue the princess and shag her. A gentleman wouldn’t refuse such an offer and he supposed Harry must have done similar loads of times. All the people he’d saved, there must have been plenty who wanted to thank him properly. Eggsy probably had to include himself if he was being honest.

Eggsy had just wanted a distraction, he wanted to keep the adrenaline high going for as long as possible, and he would have agreed to almost anything she’d suggested. Maybe she knew something was wrong; she was awfully kind to him afterwards, even as she made it clear that they were to remain strangers from here on. She’d thanked him and kissed his cheek and he’d summoned up his best manners so’s Harry wouldn’t disapprove of him. Not any more than he already did, anyway.

It all came back to Harry. His fucking guiding light who’d managed to go out just when he needed him most. Eggsy had ploughed on, because the fate of the world was at stake and what else could he do? It made for a good distraction, for a while at least.

Eggsy looked at his watch. It was the early hours of the morning, and even Merlin probably wouldn’t be awake. There would be people in the command room, but Eggsy wasn’t interested in people.

He didn’t want to stumble into Arthur’s private bath or anything so he made his way back down to the training barracks and had a piss and a shower there. Roxy, or someone, had taken his old clothes off the jet and left them on his bed, and he stared at them for a while before deciding to put the suit back on, as bloodied as it was. It was important. It was a gift.

He went to the kitchens and made himself a mug of tea, and carried it out and sat on the lawn to drink it. He knew he was hungry in an abstract sense, but food held no appeal right then. Dew soaked into his trousers. Harry would be horrified. Harry was dead.

Harry wouldn’t be horrified; he’d understand, probably. Harry was still dead.

Guiltily, Eggsy was rather glad that so many important people had been blown up. The world wasn’t going to be the same, and he didn’t want it to be the same. He remembered his mother raging at the mail, the school run, the way everything was the same and nothing was after his father died. He hadn’t understood back then, but he understood now.

He’d have to make sure she was alright next. He’d called her at some point in the past twenty hours and told her to stay inside until she was sure it was safe and he was so glad she’d taken Roxy’s advice. They were okay. Daisy was okay. Mum was okay. Cling on to that.

Beating up Dean was satisfying, as was saying goodbye to the flat he'd grown up in. Normally the process would take weeks, but after Eggsy had told Merlin about his mother and sister's living situation Merlin said to move them in whenever he wanted and the paperwork could be done later.

“Christmas, probably.”

They packed in a rush, or rather, Michelle did while Eggsy waltzed Daisy around the kitchen, crooning at her and trying to keep her calm. She sensed upheaval of some sort and was teary and querulous. Eventually Michelle lugged two suitcases out of her bedroom and stared at Eggsy across the kitchen.

“Are you gonna pack yours?” she asked.

“Yeah Mum, it'll only take a minute. Ssh Daisy, it's alright.”

Wisps of hair had come loose from Michelle's bun and she pushed them out of her face absently. “We should pack the kitchen.”

“We don't have to, Mum. It's got everythin', this new house. Just leave all this. Or I can come back later and pick stuff up if you want.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Eggsy. That decanter was a wedding gift-”

“Okay we can take that then, I'm just sayin' you don't need to fuss.”

Michelle looked at him for a few moments and then held out her arms. “Give Daisy to me and put the kettle on, would you? You want to watch some telly, darling? Come on. I'll bring you a biscuit.”

Eggsy got out some mugs and filled the kettle as he heard the familiar sounds of Peppa Pig from the other room. When Michelle came back in she had her arms folded and a wary look on her face.

“Eggsy,” she said. “You ain't a tailor.”

His shoulders dropped. “I have to tell you I is, Mum.”

“Do you think I'm stupid?”

“No,” he turned to face her. “Of course not, but I really can't-”

“We went through this with the army. What if that man comes back and gives Daisy a bleeding medal?” she asked through her teeth.

“He won't Mum.” Eggsy swallowed hard and realised his eyes were starting to swim. “I promise you he won't.”

“Oh, Eggsy,” she said softly, as she read his crumbling expression. He blinked and tried to look away. She opened her arms and stepped up to him and he hugged her and pressed his forehead into her shoulder, his teeth gritted. She stroked his hair and held him. “I'm sorry, love.”

He nodded and tried to stay quiet and didn't entirely succeed. He was probably crying for his dad as well, he realised, and his mum. He'd been too young, hadn't understood until now. She'd tried to shield him and that had to have left her so alone. He squeezed her tighter.

He tore himself away when the kettle boiled, and she let him go.

“What happened,” she said carefully. “With all the people going mad and such. Was he one of the people who died?”

Eggsy nodded. Close enough. “It's not gonna happen again; we made sure of that.”

Michelle glanced towards the living room. “I could have killed her,” she said in a hoarse whisper. The bathroom door had yet to be repaired; a reminder of what might have been. She took a deep breath, “Well then.” There was something final in her tone and Eggsy turned around to face her. She fussed with Eggsy's tie and collar. “It's a very respectable profession, tailorin', even if it's a bit old-fashioned. You'll have to take me to see the shop sometime, hm?”

She looked up at him, proud and scared in equal measure, and making the best of it.

“I will, Mum. Promise.” He loved her so much.

When they arrived at Harry's house (he wondered if it would it ever not be Harry's house in his mind) the Kingsman staff had already been through it. Gone were the butterfly collections on the walls, and all the personal memorabilia from the rest of the house. At Eggsy's request, the study hadn't been touched; he didn't want to dismantle Harry's legacy just yet, even if Merlin had thinned his lips and looked worried. Mr Pickle had migrated there too as no one wanted to give Michelle a heart attack the first time she went to the loo, and the stuffed dog sat on a bookshelf for now.

Eggsy checked the study to make sure it was untouched and then shut and locked the door.

Michelle got the master bedroom and she wandered around the house in a daze, Daisy on her hip, telling her her plans for brightening the place up a little. Eggsy was more than happy to stay in the guest room. He couldn't bear the thought of sleeping in Harry's bed. Not like that.

The place didn't even smell the same; it smelled of cleaner and polish. Harry's suits were gone. Soon the place would smell of Michelle's bangers and mash and the bathroom would be cluttered with her face stuff and Daisy's toys would be scattered across the living room rug, and JB's basket would in a warm corner of the large kitchen near his food and water bowls. Eggsy drifted through the house like a ghost, only listening to Michelle with one ear, taking it all in before it was gone for good.

A couple of shared meals, shared drinks, conversation, an argument; it had felt to Eggsy like the start of something. He didn't know what. He was going to think about it later, when he was a Kingsman, when they were equals. When he'd proved himself. Follow the fluttery feeling when Harry smiled at him. If he'd had the balls to, anyway; he couldn't really imagine Harry reciprocating.

He stayed away from the study. Told his mum not to worry about cleaning it. Dug his old gymnastics medals out of the cardboard box he'd hidden them in and set them out in his bedroom. Told himself it was all working out.

They brought Harry back from Kentucky. There was a funeral, on a fine Saturday afternoon, and Harry's sister mistook Eggsy for one of the funeral home employees. Eggsy didn't correct her; stepping into a role that a stranger expected of him was becoming second nature and it made getting through the day easier. It meant he didn't make an idiot of himself, at least.

The funeral felt like it was for someone else. Closed casket, of course. Merlin had identified the body; there was enough of Harry's face left for that at least. The sermon was for a gentle and unassuming tailor, not the bold and lethal defender of the realm that Eggsy had known. He listened with only half an ear, wondering if he regretted even coming.

Merlin spoke. A speech full of carefully crafted double-meanings, speaking of Harry's dedication to his craft. Eggsy felt numb. The Kingsmen had already toasted his death; this public mourning was for the benefit of the family.

Arthur would get a funeral too, although Eggsy had joked darkly to Roxy that the only reason he'd attend was to make sure the old bastard was dead.

That had been a bit of a sticking point, and left Eggsy in limbo for a few days while the remaining Kingsmen debated his actions. It was a bit hard to argue against the chip in Arthur's neck, however, and Merlin put Eggsy on full operational duty once the other Kingsmen had agreed. Once they picked a new Arthur they'd have a proper swearing in ceremony, but the Galahad title was his in all other respects in the meantime.

The night after the funeral Eggsy sat in Harry's study and got very drunk very quietly, as he didn't want to wake up his family, and promised Harry's shade that he'd do his best to be worthy of the title he'd inherited.


	4. Chapter 4

“Merlin, you are absolutely my favourite fucking person in the whole world.”

“Eggsy-”

“Nah, mate. For reals. You're Employee of the Year material, without a doubt.” Eggsy grinned; he could practically hear Merlin rolling his eyes. He slammed on the breaks and was grateful this model had the AMG ceramics fitted as the Mercedes SLS snarled around the corner, just missing a lamp post.

All those evenings spent watching Top Gear had finally paid off; faced with contents of Hotel de Paris Monte-Carlo's car park and Merlin's beautiful little universal car key (he was going to see the man knighted for this, he vowed, properly, with the Queen and everything) he'd regretfully passed up the Lamborghinis and Ferraris for something a little more reliable and with a bit more ground clearance.

Thank you, Jeremy Clarkson.

The driver of the Porsche was no slouch and Eggsy stepped on it, working to close the gap that had opened up as he'd weaved through Monte Carlo's back streets. Merlin gave calm, running commentary in his ear; faster and more useful than that SatNav, even if the SatNav was less sarcastic about it.

Moments like this were what Eggsy lived for. He submerged himself in the machine, focused entirely on Merlin’s voice in his ear and the tail-lights of the Porsche ahead. He didn’t even glance back at the lights of Monte Carlo behind him as he dove into the dark. Sure, it had been fun, but the fun was out here now, and he’d keep chasing it.

He chased it across the world. He could honestly say he loved his job.

He hated coming home again. The high of victory lasted less and less each time as he grew in confidence and skill. It simply didn’t mean as much as it used to, and it wasn’t like every mission was as important as his first.

He’d report his success, ditch whatever he had to (cars, bodies, identities, grateful hostages) and wait to be picked up at the nearest airfield by some Kingsman chauffeur in a jet. Going home and debriefing was an important part of getting ready for the next mission, and so Eggsy endured it without complaint.

He’d sit silently staring out the window, or trying to sleep. His handler (it wasn’t always Merlin; he hadn’t earned _that_ particular privilege yet) having signed off once he was in the clear. Sometimes the pilots were chatty and Eggsy would pretend to be the same, making a game of keeping the conversation going until England appeared on the horizon.

He was always fucking pretending to someone.

Pretending to Merlin that he was going to be sensible this time, honest. No more supercars. Pretending he was a tailor to his mum’s friends. Pretending to his own friends that he was—what?

What exactly was he meant to be?

Roxy invited him places when they had downtime. He pretended to fit in. He knew she wasn’t doing it deliberately, but she just didn’t get how exhausting it was interacting with people who’d grown up never having to think about how far they were from pay-day. They weren’t all bad people, but they were oblivious to a great deal, and rather than cause a fight between Roxy and her friends, he pretended for her sake to be oblivious as well.

Harry had taught him how, and he’d learned well. He could fit in anywhere he wanted.

If he pretended.

His mates were more impressed that he’d beaten up Dean than that he’d got a job, at least until they saw his house. Eggsy deeply regretted bringing Jamal and Ryan home; it had seemed like a good idea, but watching them circle the room making appreciative noises and trying not to touch anything too much he realised they weren’t ever going to see him quite the same way again. Sure he could pretend, and they’d haunt the Black Prince like they always had done, secure that no one was going to bother them.

And they’d tell Eggsy he hadn’t changed a bit and he’d say he weren’t gonna let all that stuff go to his head and turn into some sort of posh wanker, and they’d laugh and agree and he’d be pretending the whole time.

He had to pretend to be himself to his own fucking childhood friends. It meant he could never quite relax, even when he was supposed to be having fun. Fun wasn’t found down at the pub or in the streets or at the clubs Roxy invited him to.

It was found in the shadow of sudden death, where instinct kept him alive, reminded him that he didn’t want to die, not yet.

Occasionally he dreamt that Merlin (or Arthur, mysteriously resurrected) called him in and told him there had been a mistake, that he wasn’t a Kingsman because he hadn’t shot JB. He hated those dreams more than the ones in which Harry died; those ended quickly, with a bang and his eyes flying open and his heart thudding in his chest, and for a few precious minutes before they ended Harry was alive at least. The other dreams were interminable as he struggled impossibly to convince them to let him stay; Arthur gloated, Merlin was apologetic. He’d drift towards waking, tossing and turning, and eventually he’d open his eyes and breathe a sigh of relief that it was just a dream.

A dream but with a grain of truth in it. He knew he was the odd one out among the Kingsman; Harry’s strange choice. He knew because when he sat down for the first time to virtually meet the other Kingsman they’d been polite and welcoming and they’d tested him. Subtly, but he knew what they were doing. Couldn’t blame them. He faked it at work too, half the time. Luckily half of spywork _was_ faking it. He played rough around the edges, young and slightly overawed, even if none of this lot could have held a candle to Harry in his quiet opinion.

It worked, and that made him feel worse.

This was gonna be the rest of his life, like it or not, and he had to enjoy the bits he could and endure the rest and that was that.

He took to going for walks when he was home. It was a nice, gentlemanly thing to do, and he could imagine Harry doing it, his long legs eating up the miles as he observed other people quietly, rarely stopping, never hurrying. He didn’t have to pretend to be anything when he was an anonymous pedestrian. He left the suits and the chav gear at home; dressing in nondescript jeans and a jacket and a beanie when the weather started to get colder. He felt like a ghost, and that was an oddly comforting thought. JB sometimes accompanied him, but Eggsy walked longer and further than the little pug’s legs could carry him and JB was far too large to stuff into his coat now, so he only took him on shorter expeditions.

He returned from one such outing, having grabbed a curry on the way home and then endured JB silently pleading for him to share it all the way back. It was a relief to be out of the cold, and Eggsy shed his coat in the doorway, relishing the way the warm air started to thaw out his ears and nose.

As soon as he unclipped JB’s collar from his lead the dog hurried off to stick his nose in his water bowl while Eggsy took off his shoes. He could hear the TV, but it didn’t sound like one of Daisy’s usual shows. She should be in bed by now anyway.

“Eggsy, love, is that you?” Michelle called.

“Yeah, I’m home.”

“Do you want me to heat you up anything?”

“Nah thanks, got a curry.” He fed JB and while the dog was distracted took his own meal up to the living room.

“Come and sit down,” Michelle said. “Remember when we used to have our Sunday afternoons? You used to love all these old movies.”

She was watching My Fair Lady. Of course she was. Eggsy pretended he didn’t really, really want to watch something, anything, else and joined her on the couch, his curry balanced on his lap.

On the screen Higgins had only partially completed his project.

“I sold flowers, I didn’t sell myself. And now you’ve left me fit for nothing else!”

The professor, Eggsy knew, would finish what he started, having learned that proper vowels do not a lady make. Eggsy, on the other hand, would have to make do. If he’d learned one thing from Harry it was how much more he still had yet to understand. He could fake it; Harry had given him the tools to appear to be a gentleman.

But he hadn’t gotten around to telling him how one _lived_ it. Eggsy fished bits of chicken out of his tikka masala and tried not to envy Eliza too much.

What had Harry meant by all of that anyway? At the time he’d felt a bit bemused by his lack of movie trivia, but he’d since looked the films Harry had mentioned up on wikipedia and was left even more puzzled than before. If Harry had been flirting, he was being _really_ fucking forward and if hadn’t what the hell was he thinking? Either way, he’d started work on Eggsy and then fucked off halfway through and he was never going to find out.

And Eggsy couldn’t quite bring himself to feel as furious as he thought he ought to. Just sad.

“What’s she gonna do when he dies?” Eggsy asked, as he put the container next to Michelle’s empty plate.

“What?”

“When he dies. I mean, he’s gotta be way older than her, right? Like, thirty years older or somethin’ so it stands to reason he’s gonna die sooner or later.”

“Eggsy! You’ll spoil it. Why are you being so morbid anyway?” Michelle swatted his arm and he smiled apologetically. He didn’t want to push it in case Michelle put two and two together; he’d been very careful about how much he’d told her when it came to Harry. He didn’t want her turning her intuition on him.

“Sorry, Mum.”

Michelle considered the question anyway; when he'd been younger they'd held long discussions about the films they watched together. “She’d be a respectable widow then, wouldn’t she? I mean, if he marries her she’ll inherit all his money.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And she could marry again if she wanted to.”

“Of course.”

Something else that didn’t bear thinking about. Eggsy really didn’t wish to repeat his experience with the princess and he’d remained celibate ever since. He could pull, if he wanted, be as rough or as smooth as required, and he hadn’t stopped appreciating the pretty birds he met on his travels, but it just felt wrong to take that appreciation further. Dishonest somehow.

Not that Harry had turned him gay or anything, right. And the undercarriage worked just fine still, but he figured he probably needed time or something.

And time passed.

The world wobbled a bit on its course, thanks to Valentine, but his design hadn't been perfect and things weren't as bad as they'd feared. Eggsy had seen CCTV footage of New York; thousands of people sprawled on the ground, but not fighting. It wasn't the only malfunction; they were lucky. There was never a shortage of candidates waiting for their turn at the top, and within a couple of months, give or take the odd attempted revolution, the suits that ran the world before Valentine’s Day had been replaced by new suits that still ran the world, and Eggsy was equal parts relieved and disappointed.

After those first heady weeks in which disaster seemed imminent, things slowed down a bit for the Kingsmen. Only Arthur had died and Eggsy was glad of it; he wanted to believe in the Kingsmen and he’d have had trouble if half of them had turned out to be in the pay of their enemy.

The most pressing order of business was now finding a replacement for Arthur, a process not as straightforward as it seemed given the nature of the old Arthur’s departure. The simple fact of the matter was, like posh people everywhere, the assumption was they were going to keep it in the family. It was no coincidence that the Kingsmen had been headed by a man named King. Most of the Kingsmen were descendants or at least related to the original founders, Eggsy was given to understand.

He understood, but didn’t care; it was that sort of thinking that had landed them with Chester.

“Do you want the job?” Eggsy asked Merlin. “I reckon you’d be pretty good.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Absolutely not. I will be voting for Percival. And don’t get any funny ideas about nominating people.”

“Heaven forbid,” Eggsy said innocently.

Merlin didn’t look convinced. If he’s that worried he must think he’s in with a good chance, Eggsy decided, but if he didn't want it that was his call.


	5. Chapter 5

“Congratulations, by the way,” James said, pouring some coffee out of the thermos; it was a crime to inflict that sort of treatment on tea, but it was freezing on the Parisian garret rooftop they were currently inhabiting and there was a good chance they'd be there until dawn, so a hot drink of some description was a requirement. “On your boy getting your title.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, and he didn't try and hide how pleased he was. The methods by which news travelled from one half of Kingsman to the other were oblique and did not transmit any detail, but it was enough to know Eggsy had pulled through. More than pulled through. Harry was so proud of him, and even if he would never see him again it was a relief to know he'd made the best of his opportunities and was moving on with his life. It was up to Harry to now move on with his.

“Arthur didn't look too impressed, however. Shame about the dog test,” James said.

“Arthur never liked him. 'Not one of us' he said.”

“Well, he won't have to deal with him. I think it's rather refreshing, times are changing and all of that.” James had seemed quite chuffed when Harry told him his replacement was female.

“Don't let Arthur hear you say that.”

James chuckled and shook his head. “I can't be too hard on him. I'd be in a temper too if someone managed to poison me in my own bloody office.”

Harry had never seen Chester so angry. When they'd returned to England Chester was already installed as the new Arthur, and was ploughing through his debriefing. The worst of it was he didn't know who'd poisoned him, but he told them he was going to find out. It bothered Harry a great deal; Arthur's office was at the shop, rather than HQ, but that didn't mean it should have been easy to break in. Unfortunately it was impossible for the wizards to investigate without alerting their colleagues to their existence, and Arthur was clearly feeling frustrated.

Harry reached for his thermos and paused, feeling a prickling sense of wrongness in the air.

“Something's coming.”

James paused, frowning slightly. “Yeah, I feel it too.”

Because he was still new to it all, Harry knew he was more sensitive to the ebb and flow of magic than older wizards. Eventually he would get used to it.

“Something's crossed one of my wards,” James said. “Looks like Arthur was right.”

“It would help if we knew who the target was,” Harry said, getting to his feet and looking out into the darkness, feeling the sense of something wrong getting stronger.

He felt one of his own wards trigger from the opposite side.

“I think we're surrounded.”

“We picked the right place to observe from then,” James said lightly.

“There-”

There was something on a roof on the opposite street, dark and mostly formless. A constructed thing, made of a terrible moment and spit and broken glass and hair and old newspapers, bound in red string or a burlap sack or cheap whisky (or even a man's hat) and it gobbled greedily at some muck in a gutter and Harry sensed that it had spotted them, looking without eyes.

It leaped towards them, right across the street, and as it crossed the little chalk scrawl James had left on the footpath below it disintegrated in mid-air, blowing away like so much rubbish.

The world was better for it.

Harry and James waited, back to back, holding their umbrellas as they watched. They couldn't coat Paris in chalk; inevitably one would get through, and when it did they'd be ready.

At least, Harry hoped he would. This was the first time a mission had actually come to real combat since he'd become a wizard. He hadn't lost any speed or skill in the deep blue sea, but the edge of his confidence had eroded, he could see a new hesitation in his movements so slight he doubted anyone else would notice it. It bothered him.

“I'm going,” he said, as he spotted a dark shape edging down a dusty side-street, having somehow avoided the chalk circle he'd drawn at one end.

“Good luck.”

It was strangely silent. Merlin did not talk into their ears giving advice and information. Once James was out of sight, Harry was entirely on his own. It was freeing, in a way, and also unnerving. Harry did his best to be quiet on a cast iron fire escape; people were sleeping just meters away, safe, he hoped, inside their houses.

Harry waited, watching the thing feel its way closer. Wait for it.

He put one foot on the railing, bracing himself to jump. His umbrella didn't have a gun in it any more. Bullets remained useful, but not universally so. So when he grasped the handle, twisted, and pulled, it was a long steel blade that whispered out of the haft. He missed his old umbrella, but he had to admit he rather liked its replacement.

He leapt, the blade preceding him. When the steel edge touched the roiling, reeking, shuffling thing, it met almost no resistance, and he landed on the cobblestone street in a shower of dirt and other unmentionable things, his foot crunching on a set of false teeth as he landed. He didn't react outwardly, but he was going to get his suit dry cleaned first thing when he got back. These creatures were _wrong._

He slid the blade back into the umbrella with a satisfying snick and strolled out onto the street as if nothing had happened. He kept his neck craned however, keeping an eye on the rooftops and an eye for an easy way back up to them. He could feel that there was still more danger out there; the ritual hadn't been exhausted yet.

He was still looking for an inconspicuous way to get back up when he heard his name called softly.

“Harry!” He looked up and saw James watching him from a rooftop, none the worse for wear. He waited until he was sure he had Harry's attention and pointed down the street. “They're making for that hotel.”

It was all so primitive, but when he'd asked Merlin why they couldn't use radios he'd just said “Interference,” and since Harry hadn't understood any of the other explanations Merlin had given him over the last few weeks he didn't bother asking him to clarify. He just had to get used to it.

Harry waved to acknowledge him and started making his way towards it. There were people still out and about on these lighted streets. Humans were good at sensing something was out there in the dark, and tended to stay home when wizards were aboard, but light and company filled them with false sense of security, and the danger grew greater there.

Harry watched a cluster of people in evening dress standing around outside the hotel, laughing and talking. There was a taxi pulled up at the curb but they were in no hurry to split their party and make use of it, by the looks of things. He hung back a little way, pretending to look at his watch, knowing he appeared perfectly respectable.

He wished they'd get moving.

“Ah, there you are,” James strolled up and they made polite small talk, still standing mostly in the shadows.

“Shit,” Harry said quietly. “There's something coming around the side.” It was lurching out of the driveway that was presumably an entrance for deliveries, and the group of revellers were directly between it and the wizards.

“I've got it,” James said.

Simply put when there is a man one moment and a dog the next, most people assume they've missed the man leaving and the dog arriving, and so the group barely noticed until the greyhound surged past them, the women gasping in surprise and the group murmuring as they watched James bound down the street on four paws. He leaped at the creature and knocked it back around the corner, like he was attacking a garbage bag, dragging it further into the dark. It did not squeal or cry out.

Harry thought about attacking one of those creatures with his _teeth_ and grimaced. Magic was, he was discovering, relatively disgusting.

Sure you could make magic out of ivory and moonbeams, but it cost to do that sort of thing, and the cost was high. Coax it out of bird shit and chalk and the universe might itch a little but it wouldn't turn around and try and bite you right off.

At least the interruption brought about by the dog seemed to bring the conversation outside the hotel to a close, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the party waved off one of their number and went back inside. He didn't relax for long, however, as a stray beam of streetlight afforded him a glimpse of the passenger in the taxi.

Gawain.

The taxi would be outside their charmed circle within minutes. A bullet in one of the tyres would cause enough of a delay, but Gawain would know exactly what had happened and come after him. Harry could probably get away, but it was likely he'd still be recognised. All Kingsmen were to be given a wide berth, even if it meant their deaths. That was how it worked. They'd get another chance on the other side, but the secret had to be preserved.

So Harry recited what he hoped was a curse at the taxi, feeling the prickling ripple between his temples that indicated the successful working of magic and ran. At least his hours scribbling chalk about this portion of the city had given him an excellent mental map, and he swung himself over fences and pounded down side streets, part of him wishing he'd died a bit younger and part of him still aching with regret for having died at all. He ran past the back of a restaurant, startling a couple of dishwashers having a smoke break. He didn't have a plan. He had no time to tell James what was happening or where he was going.

He'd figure it out when he got there. He guessed, from the direction the taxi had taken, Gawain was headed to their Paris safe house, and Harry was able to circle around and get ahead of the taxi. The taxi had been plagued the entire time by red lights and unfortunate traffic but Harry had put only breath into the curse and it wasn't enough to stop it entirely, and would wear off in minutes.

He was rather pleased he'd got it right, however.

He wasn't so pleased to see what was waiting for him, pacing up and down, repelled by the chalk circles but too big and too well-constructed to be destroyed by them. It looked almost like a man; it was wearing a puffy grey jacket with a torn sleeve, and mismatched running shoes. It reeled and mumbled and smelled of beer, and for a moment Harry thought it _was_ a person and he wondered how many people he'd glimpsed over the course of his life who were anything but. And then the taxi came around the corner and the creature raised its shaggy, lumpy head and stumbled out into the road, arms outstretched.

Harry unsheathed his blade, tossing the rest of the umbrella aside, and before he gave himself time to think he pressed his thumb against a button on the handle. He felt a sharp pain in his thumb as the spring-loaded blade dug in, blood welling from the wound channelled down onto the blade itself, dying the gleaming metal red and dripping onto the ground.

Whatever its orders had been, the creature couldn't ignore fresh blood, and it turned towards where Harry waited in the shadows as if pulled by a string.

The taxi swerved around the motionless creature, the driver swearing at it in French as he drove past. The creature's attention was divided, torn between hunger and duty. As soon as the taxi was rounding the next bend, Harry was moving forward, his bloodied blade at the ready.

This one didn't disintegrate. Maybe it was old and had started solidifying, or it was just better made than its siblings, but although Harry's bloodied weapon made it stagger and gape (it wasn't a mouth, it was just a hole) it retaliated, slowly, but with fists like concrete and broken glass and it didn't really feel pain. Harry kept moving, dancing out of its way, darting in to slash at it. He needed to break it up enough for the ritual binding it to finally give way.

A claymore might have been more useful than the delicate umbrella blade, but the weapon was strong and laced with the blood of an Englishman who had died in service to his country and that was power enough for a while.

The wound on his thumb had clotted almost completely and his hand was aching when James finally arrived to help him finish it off and finally, almost gratefully, it sank back into the fathomless muck it had been birthed from under the combined might of their steel and blood.

“Are you all right?” James asked, dabbing his thumb with his handkerchief. “Not bad for your first mission.”

“Arthur was right,” Harry said, finally catching his breath. “A Practitioner of some sort _is_ trying to target the Kingsmen. That was Gawain.”

“Well that's a bit worrying,” James said, and for once his genial smile faded. “Maybe that's how Arthur's assassin got into the shop in the first place.”

“I don't know.” Harry shook his head. He didn't know enough about anything.


	6. Chapter 6

“So this is the good life,” Harry told his reflection in the living room window. The window overlooked a charming little garden, albeit a rather empty one at this time of year, but it was dark outside and he could see nothing beyond the glass.

The other Kingsman HQ was in Wiltshire, housed in a strange, crooked mansion in the middle of nowhere, hidden by trees and topography until you were right on top of it. With the exception of Arthur, the Kingsmen did not reside there. Instead Harry was given a cute little cottage in one of the nearby villages, and a cover story. A successful career as an accountant, a heart attack followed by early retirement somewhere nice and peaceful and an ambition to write detective novels was the sum total of his briefing. His only consolation was the powerful Jaguar, a few years old, which was apparently all he had to show for a mid-life crisis and would, at least, get him to London within reasonable time.

Which was a poor substitute for actually living there, of course. Harry rather loved London. Should he find himself in need of distraction he only had to put on a suit and go out to see a show or find interesting strangers to talk to. He had the world's cuisine to choose from every time he didn't feel like cooking, he had crowds to lose himself in, and there was nothing he couldn't buy within an hour or two should he desire it.

The countryside was, by comparison, very quiet and very dull. When he opened a window all he could hear was the wind in the trees, and the occasional car on the road or a solitary owl. And the worst of it was, he was off active duty for the time being so he was sort of stuck here.

The threat to the Kingsmen was the highest priority, and someone of his inexperience as a wizard, Arthur told him, was a liability at this stage. They couldn't risk losing his potential by putting him on the field unprepared. Harry wasn't sure that was all there was to it, and he suspected Chester still felt guilty about sending him off to that church in Kentucky. He'd been a bit different since he'd died, but Harry thought he might be a bit different now too. He felt changed.

Harry wished Chester wouldn't feel guilty, however; he went in with his eyes wide open and was always prepared to die, even if, shamefully, part of him was relieved he wouldn't have to wade into battle again just yet.

He didn't sleep well. He dreamed often of the deep blue sea, and once he'd awoken from such dreams, like he had tonight, it was impossible to sleep again. He got tired of his haggard reflection and tied the sash on his dressing gown around his middle and made his way into the kitchen to put on some tea. It was nearly three am, the microwave informed him.

He wasn't short of things to do, and during daylight hours he kept himself in shape, and practised with his blade.

And then there was the magic. The sooner he mastered it the sooner he could rejoin the fray.

He carried the teapot into the living room, sat in one of the easy chairs and took out a large, leather-bound book. He opened it at a bookmark but didn't look at the page as he focused on remembering the chants, alternating between making the first and last syllables silent as he practised.

His phone rang at four-forty-five. It was a clunky old-fashioned Bakelite thing and wasn't even plugged into the wall. It only rang for Kingsman business.

“Galahad.” It was Merlin on the other end and he didn't sound surprised that Harry was already awake. “The team guarding Percival has come under heavy attack and is requesting backup.”

Percival. Shit.

“And I'm it?”

“I'm afraid you are. He's at his family home in Dorset, after returning from his last mission.”

“I'm on my way.”

“Thank you, Galahad. Good luck. And Harry.” He paused, listening. “If he doesn't make it, it's your duty to pull him out of the sea.”

“I know.”

Harry guessed why Percival was in the country; he was on the young side but the obvious candidate to replace Arthur. He was distantly related to Chester himself and he was more than capable.

To lose four of their best agents in the span of half a year would weaken the Kingsman greatly, Harry thought as he swiftly but carefully donned his suit, holsters and guns, taking his umbrella out of the stand by the front door as he stepped outside into the predawn cold.

The Jag growled to life and sped down deserted country roads into the village proper. There were only two stores open at this time; the convenience store and the travel agency. The latter was a depressing, dingy place even in daylight, and the posters on the walls dusty and out-of-date. A kid with several piercings was picking his nose and staring at the computer on the front desk, and he looked up when Harry parked his Jag out the front and stepped inside.

“Dorchester,” Harry told him.

“Right you are, mate,” he said, hitting a few keys and Harry turned around and stepped outside again, this time into a different town entirely. There was a car waiting for him, a rental car supplied by the nameless travel agency.

Harry knew the way to Percival's family home. He'd been there before, for the odd party or holiday, and he remembered playing snooker in the games room and Percival's (now deceased) mother's braying laugh. He remembered one summer intending to read by the pond only to spy his host deep in intimate conversation with James, and Harry had sensed it was best not to disturb them. He had no idea what the outcome of that particular conversation was and a gentleman did not enquire. When James died, Percival kept a stiff upper lip throughout.

Harry saw a glow in the sky ahead of him and his heart sank as he turned up the long, winding driveway.

The house was ablaze, a great fat column of black smoke lit from below obscuring the stars. Harry swung his car past an aging Range Rover that was parked by the front gate and drove right up. On the large, sloping lawn in front of the house, a creature of bracken and rope and lightning-blasted trees the size of a cottage was locked in combat with a silver-haired gentleman in a suit Harry didn't recognise, but who carried a long, thin blade.

Harry drove right up to him, aiming a gun out the window at the creature.

“Galahad!” he shouted to announce himself.

“Tristan!” the gentleman introduced himself. Harry was too polite to gape, but nevertheless he was stunned. An active agent until his death at seventy-six, Tristan was something of a legend. He had to be at least a hundred and ten by now. He flung open the back door and dived inside. “Evasive manoeuvres if you would.” He started reloading a pistol while Harry carved up the ruined lawn a bit more as the creature lumbered in their wake.

“That thing's huge.”

“I'll handle it. Percival hasn't emerged from the house. It should be child's play for a Kingsman to escape his own home should it be on fire and I fear he's been delayed somehow. He's not dead, however, so mind you don't let him see you.” Tristan gave him a stern look in the wing mirror.

“Do you want the car?” Harry asked.

“No, thank you, I just needed to catch my breath. Tally ho.” So saying he opened the door and leaped out, rolling on the grass and getting to his feet in one movement, emptying his gun at the creature. Harry left him to it and put his foot down, getting as close as he dared to the house. The fire seemed to have started at the front, and the back was still mostly intact even as the impressive facade looked in danger of collapse. Harry's heart ached slightly for the beautiful old building, but he was more concerned about its owner. He parked what he hoped was a safe distance away and abandoned the vehicle.

He remembered the layout of the house, where the bedroom was, where he'd go if the front caught fire. He vaulted over a low stone balustrade and up onto a patio. The doors to the parlour were shut, and he peered in through the glass door. Something inside was moving in the dark, but it took him a few moments to work out what.

Percival was in his pyjamas, without slippers or glasses, his back to the wall near the opposite doorway. As Harry watched he struggled to move forward, his bare feet kicking against the wall behind him. His back was to an oil painting in a gilt frame, and Harry realised the painted surface was seething, and something was wrapped around Percival's neck as he struggled to prise himself free.

Harry knew what he should do. He summoned Merlin.

“What is that?” he asked, holding the mirror up to the glass.

“Sorcery,” Merlin said dryly, but Harry could hear the tension in his voice. “Someone's used that painting as a basis for a ritual. I don't suppose you know what the painting's of.”

“An ancestor of some sort, if I remember correctly. We have to get him out of there.” Harry drew back to kick in the door.

“No!” Merlin said. “He is still alive! He cannot be allowed to see you. You know this, Galahad.”

Harry could feel the heat from the front of the house, but the breeze was blowing the smoke in the other direction for now. He could see the wall behind Percival start to blister and smoke.

Shoot the dog. Give up everything you knew. Die for the Kingsmen. Watch a friend and comrade die in front of you and do nothing. Harry made a fist and thumped it gently against the warm glass. He slipped the mirror back into his pocket.

“No,” he muttered. This wasn't right. His eyes were watering. “Fuck!” He took two steps back and put a bullet in the lock. Twice. The door splintered and opened easily when he put his foot to it, and he barged through. “Percy!”

He coughed as he hurried across the room.

As he approached he realised that what held Percival to the painting was a pair of arms, glistening and oily, not quite three-dimensional, like an optical illusion on a flat piece of paper. Percival was wheezing, bloodied fingers scrabbling for a purchase as he tried to breathe, his face a dark red, but as Harry approached his eyes widened as he recognised him.

“You look like you've seen a ghost,” Harry said, as he drew his blade.

As he stepped forward to free Percival the upper half of the painting moved and Harry's instincts had him darting back as a soulless face, unrecognisable after being forced into roughly three dimensions, loomed out of the smoky darkness, big, flat teeth framing a mouth about a foot across as it snapped at him. Harry retaliated with the blade, feeling it cut through canvas, and smelling paint mixed with the smoke.

The painting was gashed but no weaker for it and the cut edges flapped raggedly as it split, growing bigger as it lunged after Harry again. Harry was trying to remember a spell, or a curse, or anything and he was aware of Percival struggling weakly somewhere in front of him as the heat grew more intense. Harry slashed and tore and the gaps in the painting grew teeth of their own and soon he was faced with a dozen mouths, the eyes lost somewhere among them. This just wasn't working. He needed a different approach.

Ah, an old painting. Of course.

Wizards had need of a spark more often than they had need of grenades, so the lighter Harry had received a few weeks earlier had fuel rather than explosive in it. Nevertheless, with a flick of the wheel, it was transformed into a short-lived flame-thrower, and the next time the construct approached Harry pressed his thumb down on the button and roasted the parody of a face.

The painting didn't shriek, even though he'd expected it to, but it did start to melt with a horrible chemical smell, bubbling and oozing away as Harry advanced on its remains. He could hear the timbers of the house groaning and something in the next room snapped and gave way with a gust of heat and sparks.

Harry tried to call Percival's name but was stopped by a cough. Harry hurried to him, stepping over the charred remains. Painted hands still held fast to Percival's neck.

He'd stopped struggling.

Harry felt the air leave his lungs and something cold and empty—it might have been despair—clutch at his heart. He stood on its edge, close enough that his breath rippled the surface. The centre around which he knew the universe revolved.

The deep blue sea.


	7. Chapter 7

Too late, too late.

The mansion was burning still, the fire creeping forwards into the room in which Harry stood, but nothing disturbed the deep blue sea. He stood frozen, staring both at Percival's sagging corpse, with its bulging eyes and frothing mouth, and at his serene face somewhere beyond it.

He understood now what it meant to bring someone back. The power that had forced the universe to yield just this much, and he was awestruck at the audacity of the original Kingsmen, who dared not only to do this to themselves, but to extend the ritual to their unknowing successors, ordinary humans who knew not what they were doing when they defied the universe.

He was scared.

He knew all he had to do was reach out, pluck at the surface and pull Percival out and he would open his eyes. He was drifting away, drifting deeper, but so slowly he'd be within arms reach for hours yet. The ritual held strong.

But to reach in. Even for a moment to be back there. It was bad enough just to gaze upon it.

He'd die if he stayed here. He came back to himself, somewhat, once again aware of the heat around him. He couldn't just grab him and leave, either, as he had to leave a corpse for the other Kingsman to find and that required a little Latin to create. To come back later, once the fire was out was the sensible thing to do. He'd have time then, and oxygen, even if he had to reach right in to the deep blue-

Percival swayed, and then receded some into the deep blue, as if an anchor had been tugged. Harry's heart lurched with him. Was that supposed to happen? Harry had no idea but he couldn’t let Percival go. He’d failed to save his life once, after all, and almost without thinking he stretched his hand out and let it sink into the deep blue sea. He reached for Percival’s hand, found it.

Somehow.

Pulled.

Percival didn't move. Harry got a better grip, wrapping his hand around Percival's wrist and flinging his weight back, but the surface didn't even wrinkle. And then something pulled _back._ Harry fought a moment of free-falling panic that he'd be pulled in himself and redoubled his efforts, letting his racing heart tell him he was still alive, that the sea was not for him. Not yet. It had yielded in Kentucky, spat him back up, and he could sense the ritual straining to do the same for Percival. But something _else_ was tugging him back, deeper.

The house was burning. He would be joining Percival permanently if he didn't get out, he knew that, but he refused to give up, gripping his wrist so hard he felt the bones grinding together. He jolted forward, sinking up to his elbow as something writhed in the blue below. Something big, something old and hating and dead.

He might have been whimpering. He didn't want to be here like this but he refused to give up, and felt his oxfords lose ground as he was dragged further in.

Percy, come on! He braced his other hand on the wall, ignoring the heat. Why wasn't it working, he wondered despairingly. He just didn't know enough about anything; Arthur was right, he shouldn't be here.

Harry still wasn't giving up, even though his cheek was kissing the surface, his lungs struggling for oxygen, his eyes teared shut against the smoke as Percival was pulled deeper. He must be nearly dislocating his arm.

“Galahad.”

Tristan was behind him, beside him, his arm around his waist. Harry turned his head, grateful, trying to explain but Tristan yanked him back urgently, and Percival's hand slipped from his fingers. Harry staggered, dizzy, the sea receding, the heat unbearable as Tristan hauled him towards the doors, his handkerchief pressed against his mouth. The painting started to smoulder and Percival's corpse thumped to the floor as the Kingsmen staggered out into fresh air, Harry gasping and coughing.

The deep blue sea had been right there. He’d reached into it with his own hands.

Harry fell to his knees, digging his fingers deep in to the lawn, resisting the urge to start scooping up handfuls of earth and eating them, fighting the urge to bury himself alive somehow. Still alive.

“Shit,” Harry managed to get out before nearly coughing up a lung. “I couldn't pull him out,” he croaked. He'd failed him.

“What do you mean?” Tristan asked, looking at him with concern, the firelight reflecting off his glasses.

“Something pulled him back in. I don't know. He’s definitely gone.” He caught a glimpse of Percival disappearing into the deep blue depths as Tristan had hauled him clear.

“We have to go, regardless. The beast is dead and I've covered our tracks.”

Harry hauled himself to his feet and made it back to his car. The Range Rover was parked beside it and Tristan got into his own vehicle and motioned for Harry to follow him. Harry thought he could hear a helicopter; the destruction of Percival's glasses would have alerted the Kingsman.

They drove back to Dorchester and the travel agency was already open. They left via a back entrance that opened out of a shed on the Kingsman HQ grounds.

Arthur and Merlin were waiting for them. In the predawn light everyone looked greyed out and tired. They were debriefed over tea that Harry barely touched, as Tristan explained their failure.

“Three powerful rituals to kill one man,” he said. “They were expecting him to be protected. The beast was to keep me occupied while the house burned.”

“Why didn't you pull him out?” Merlin asked Harry.

“I tried,” Harry said through his teeth. Tristan had already described how he'd found him, shoulders-deep in the deep blue sea. “What more am I supposed to do?”

“Don't blame Galahad,” Arthur said. “He's not prepared for that sort of mission; he's barely out of the sea himself.”

“What could possibly have pulled him down? Nothing lives in the deep blue sea. That's the point.”

Merlin and Tristan looked at each other and Tristan shook his head.

“I have no idea. The sea's a sort of metaphor; nothing should be able to literally live in it.”

Merlin ran his fingers through his hair, dislodging his unruly curls further. “I'll do some research.”

“I will inform the Kingsman of what has happened,” Arthur said gravely.

“I could have saved him,” Harry said meeting Merlin’s eyes. “If you hadn't told me to stand back and watch him die.” He'd disregarded the order in the end anyway, but it had been far too little, too late.

Merlin frowned.

“This world isn't kind, Harry,” Arthur said gently. “I know you did your best.”

And it wasn't good enough. He didn't say anything more other than take his leave, and Arthur said he should concentrate on his training for now and get some rest. Tristan stayed behind to talk with Merlin and Harry was crossing the dew sparkled lawn alone when James stumbled out of the shed, sunburned and pale.

“Harry!”

Harry bowed his head as James stalked across the garden and grabbed the lapels on his jacket. He shook him slightly.

“I was waiting for him,” James said, his voice cracking. “We were going to have another chance.”

I don't even have that hope, Harry thought. Maybe it was better that way.

“I'm sorry, James. I’m so sorry.” He didn't resist as James manhandled him. He wouldn't have resisted even if he'd thrown a punch but the fight went out of the other man and he sagged against Harry's shoulder.

“I know you did your best,” James said, and his graciousness hurt more than a punch would have. “It's the price we pay as Kingsmen.” He lifted his head and he wasn't crying as he smoothed down Harry’s jacket and stepped away. “I'm going to, uh, give Merlin my report and go and have a drink, I think. It was after six in my last timezone, after all.”

Harry nodded.

“Good day, Harry.”

“James.” Harry glanced at him as he walked towards the house, but James didn't look back.

Harry's Jag was waiting for him when he stepped out of the travel agency. He stared at it for a handful of seconds and then got in. He put on Radio 3 and took the exit out of town to the motorway; he had no desire to go back to his designated home just yet.

London was awash with magic. Old magic, new magic, half-finished, half-forgotten. Harry looked at the city with new eyes when he arrived, and he had plenty of time to look because the morning traffic was horrendous as usual. He was in no hurry; he wasn’t even sure where he was going. Savile Row was off-limits for obvious reasons; his glasses would fool the CCTV and facial recognition technology but someone who actually knew him would recognise him.

He eventually found somewhere to park the Jag and had breakfast at a place he’d never been to before, staring unseeing at the newspaper, watching the crowds outside instead.

He went for a walk. He’d been striding purposefully down the footpaths for an hour when he realised he was inscribing a large, rather wobbly circle around both the shop and his old house. As if his meagre command of magic would make the slightest difference.

He paused in front of a shop window to admire the pastries inside, and check both his reflection and the street behind him. He was sure no one was following him but it was second nature to him by now to check.

He sensed newly made magic. Something familiar about it. Something bad, but Harry was starting to realise that by definition magic was 'bad.' It was an affront to the natural order, no matter what purpose it served. Harry frowned and bent his head to concentrate and a woman with a pram gave him an exasperated huff for not moving out of the way. He murmured an apology.

Familiar was enough. He’d felt the magic of whoever was attacking Kingsman twice now. It couldn’t hurt to check. He found shreds of tobacco and a confetti and blood in an alley and he knew the ritual had started here. It wasn’t a big one; nothing like that which took out Percival’s house. Something discreet, something still active and waiting to be triggered. Harry followed, his head aching as he tried to find where it had got to.

He found himself in familiar surroundings. Too familiar. He was well within the forbidden area around his old house now, but the sense of wrongness was clear and distinct. Despite the watery sunshine, things were aboard. Bad things. Too close to home for comfort.

He couldn’t risk being seen, so he risked magic instead. He’d intended to try this one at home first, but the memory of James’s sleek greyhound gave him hope.

It was incredibly disorienting to walk on all fours. Luckily his body seemed to know how to do it, and Harry let himself be led out onto the street by his nose. And what a nose. It conveyed a huge jumble of impressions that Harry couldn’t begin to sort through, instead trying to concentrate on the thread of magic while not upsetting too many pedestrians.

He sort of thought everything looked a bit too big, but he didn’t realise why until he saw himself in the reflection of a hub cap. He wasn’t a greyhound. He was a Yorkshire Terrier; it was Mr Pickle’s familiar face that loomed up out of the shiny chrome as his nose led him over to examine it.

Oh, fuck. He remembered now, James complaining about Churchill’s endless exercise requirements and bemoaning the fact he hadn’t picked a smaller dog. He was having the last laugh now, wasn't he?

Harry’s hind legs folded under him as he sat despondently in the street. James’s greyhound could tear creatures apart but he didn’t think Mr Pickle would be up to the job, if he was being honest. He should turn around, find a travel agency, and report back.

And then his nose caught wind of something that made total, utter sense to his brain. Out of the thousand bewildering impressions that formed London’s stink, Harry recognised something familiar and sweet and was on his feet again instantly.

_Eggsy._

He didn’t seek to question how he knew what Eggsy smelled like, but he’d recognise it anywhere, or rather, his nose would. He was off and running as best as his short, stubby legs would carry him.


	8. Chapter 8

It was challenging trying to navigate London when one was a Yorkshire Terrier. In constant danger of being tripped or stepped on, Harry weaved his way through a sea of legs. Crossing the road was even worse and he waited for the lights while bemused pedestrians looked on. Some people even tried to pat him, and he slipped away from their friendly fingers.

Everywhere was so fucking far away as well and Harry was soon panting, his tongue lolling between his teeth, but he didn’t slow down. He could smell the creatures now; magic had its own scent and it made the fur along his spine stand up. Somewhere ahead of him was both Eggsy and the creatures and he didn’t think it was a coincidence. Eggsy didn’t have a guard; both he and Roxy had been deemed unlikely targets and the wizards were short on agents as it was.

It had bothered Harry when he’d heard it, but he’d understood the logic. He was only glad he’d felt restless and guilty enough to come in and check up on him (which, in hindsight, was clearly what he’d been doing, even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself at the time.)

He hadn’t expected the sudden pang in his chest when he caught sight of Eggsy. The young man was in jeans and a jacket, just strolling, and Harry was so relieved to see him in one piece. The creatures had been staying out of sight, but Harry could smell them close by now, waiting.

He couldn’t sneak up on Eggsy. He wasn’t trying to be stealthy and Eggsy was a trained spy. He turned as Harry bolted down the street and Harry saw him smile and bend his head slightly, as weak to dogs as Harry himself was.

“Hello little fella,” Harry heard him say, but he didn’t slow down.

_Don’t follow me._

If he could track down the danger, get out of sight, he could be human, swift, and lethal again. He wasn’t sure where his clothes and umbrella had gone exactly, but he was sure they’d be returned to him. It was less like he was a dog and more than he was just sort of borrowing the shape.

And the short legs and tiny lungs, he thought regretfully, feeling rather short of breath. Eggsy apparently found the sight of him tearing down the street amusing and Harry heard his laughter in his wake. It was something of a relief to know he was still the sort to laugh easily. He'd been worried, just a bit. Wondering how Eggsy was coping with it all.

Obviously, he was fine, and Harry couldn't afford to be distracted.

Harry followed his nose into a nearby alleyway, slowing to a trot, not sure what he'd find, but not surprised by what he did. Three. Very well made; they had faces and clothes even if their eyes were blank as fractured cell phone screens and their breath was pure exhaust and floor polisher. They had to have been wandering around for hours, maybe eating garbage to gain a bit more heft in the meantime.

After what had happened to Percival he was going to _shred_ these creatures before they even got near Eggsy. His lips curled back from his teeth instinctively, a growl rising in his chest.

He darted in, intending to stand up among them, take them out in a fluid movement and be on his way as swiftly as possible.

He didn't realise until it was almost too late that they were quite big, and he was quite small, and for these creatures something Yorkshire Terrier-sized would fall into the category of food.

As soon as they were aware of his presence, they lunged at him. Two of them half collided with each other but paid no mind and Harry skidded away from their grasping hands and was kicked off his feet as one of them stumbled after him.

Fine, he'd do this the hard, slow way if he had to.

“Oi! Leave that poor dog alone!”

_No, Eggsy._

He couldn't transform back now, not with Eggsy standing in the mouth of the alleyway, bristling to do battle. The creatures reacted as one, their target now in range and they turned on Eggsy without a word.

“Come on then,” Eggsy said, loosening up, confident he could take three thugs like these. Harry reassessed the battlefield. There was no way Eggsy could win; he couldn't really hurt these creatures unless he literally dismembered them and he was unlikely to do that with this bare hands. He thought they were human, and that assumption could kill him.

Harry wasn't in a much better position, if he was honest, but he waded back into the fray, leaping up on one of the creatures and sinking his teeth into its arm as it swung at Eggsy. Eggsy parried, fast and fluid and he was going to make _such_ an agent someday as he landed what should have been elegant but crippling blows on his attackers. But of course they didn't work. Flesh hit pseudo-flesh with dull thuds but they only rocked back on their feet and kept coming. The creature shook its arm irritably, dislodging Harry and sending him flying into a brick wall.

He landed painfully, wishing he was a cat instead. He felt small and fragile and brittle and the four feet were okay, but how the fuck did you fight with no fucking _hands_?

James had told him a trick to use as a last resort, and Harry chewed on his own lips, tasting and smelling blood. He had that at least. Eggsy was startled and fighting harder now; having realised these people were trying to do him serious injury. They hadn't said anything, even though these ones were probably good enough to string together words if they needed to.

Eggsy was talking to him, telling him to stay back, there's a good boy, don't get hurt. Let Eggsy take care of it.

Harry waited long enough to see his chance and he leaped, scrambling up the creature's side with blunt, almost useless claws and biting its shoulder with bloodied teeth, putting all the strength he had into it. Finally it reacted, jerking back, its arm twitching as Harry worried at the binding holding the limb on. He could feet the magic vibrating through his jaw, his tongue curled back in horror from what he knew it was tasting.

The others came to its aid. They were there to work as a team and Harry scrambled to get away as they reached for him to rip him off. As soon as he landed he went for Eggsy instead, bit the hem of his jeans and pulled him towards the street, growling.

_Come on!_

“Whoa, hey! I know you're tryin' to help, mate.” Harry released his trouser leg and barked, or rather, told his body to bark and it did. “You're bleedin',” Eggsy said, his eyes wide with worry. “Get outta here! It's dangerous. Go home!”

The creatures were still coming. Maybe someone on the street had noticed the scuffle and called the police, and maybe not. They were being pretty quiet.

Harry ached. Bruised at least. Exhausted. His ears and tail drooped but he deliberately stepped forward to put himself between Eggsy and the creatures. Over his dead body.

His eyes widened as he felt an arm snake around under his middle and Eggsy lifted him right off his feet. He struggled briefly but realised Eggsy was already turning to go.

“Come on, mate,” he said, holding Harry tightly against his chest. Harry let himself go limp as Eggsy turned and ran.

Harry rested his head on Eggsy's shoulder, watching behind them for pursuit while Eggsy sprinted away. He was being jolted with every step, but Harry didn't mind. Just as long as they kept moving. He wagged his tail weakly when Eggsy asked if he was alright. He was warm and Eggsy's smell (breakfast, deodorant, cordite, gun oil, Eggsy himself) was worryingly comforting.

Harry had missed him; he hadn't quite realised just how much.

“Have we lost 'em, boy?” Eggsy asked.

 _Probably not._ The ritual either had to exhaust itself or Eggsy had to get out of range before he was really safe. Nevertheless Eggsy slowed to walk and then stopped and gently put Harry down on the ground.

Harry looked up at him and Eggsy stared at him with a strange expression.

“You look just like Harry's dog,” he said softly, rubbing him behind the ears. “Scottish Terrier or whatever.”

_Please never go under cover as a dog fancier._

Roxy had mentioned that Eggsy had mistaken JB for a bulldog and Harry had politely not laughed too much.

“And you don't have a collar or nothin'.” He lifted Harry's lip with his thumb, looking worried. “I can see blood. I think you should see a vet.”

_Fuck no._

Harry bolted. Or tried to. Eggsy was too fast and too big and strong to resist as he grabbed the scruff of Harry's neck and held him still.

“No you don't. You might be really hurt. Silly thing, tryin' to defend me like that. You're a good dog, aren't you? Yeah you are.” He sounded so sad Harry stopped trying to get away. He knew it was hopeless anyway.

Eggsy kept one hand on him as he flagged down a cab but Harry didn't try and get away. With luck they'd end up outside the ritual area and without a target it would simply fall apart. He obediently got into the cab when Eggsy told him to. The cabbie wasn't pleased about his canine passenger but once Eggsy explained what had happened he launched into a rant about dangerous youths attacking anything that moved and what was this country coming to and how six months in the army would straighten them all out and didn't object further.

Harry sat on the back seat next to Eggsy, letting Eggsy run his hand over his head and scratch behind his ears. He could sort of see why dogs liked it so much.

If it kept Eggsy safe, the vet could be endured. He'd had plenty of medical examinations over the course of his life, after all. He didn't want to end up actually stuck there for treatment, however, and so when the veterinary assistant ran her hands over his bruises, prodding and looking for sore places, Harry suppressed his pain reactions as best he could, stoically enduring it all while Eggsy told him he was a good boy for behaving so well.

“He's an older unneutered male Yorkshire Terrier. No chip. He's in good condition, just some bruising and some cuts in his mouth that won't need stitches. No broken bones.”

It may have been the most humiliating medical report he'd ever been given. Eggsy asked some questions about how he might go about finding Harry's rightful owner, but didn't seem too upset at the thought that they might not be easy to find.

Harry knew exactly how easy it was to fall in love with Mr Pickle, so he wasn't really surprised Eggsy was susceptible to his cute face and big brown eyes. Harry wasn't too concerned; Eggsy couldn't watch him all the time. As soon as he was unobserved he could simply slip away, as either dog or man, and hope that no one ever found out how he'd spent his morning.

For now, he let Eggsy pet him and take him home.

His house smelled like Strange Dog. He felt, or rather his body felt, oddly offended by this.

JB came bounding up, and Eggsy told him to be good, and that this was, well, he doesn't have a name yet. Be nice, he's a good dog and an old dog and don't play too rough.

_Not that old._

Eggsy laughed softly, “Although given the way you fought this morning, you're more than a match for JB. You should have seen him, JB. Maybe he'll make a guard dog out of you.”

Harry doubted it. JB didn't put him on guard, so he supposed the pug was friendly as he circled around him, bouncing and sniffing at him. Eggsy shed his coat and walked further into the house. Harry followed more slowly, looking at the changes that his death had wrought on the old place.

Smelled odd. Familiar but different. Smelled like small children and JB. Harry stood in the living room and looked around. He heard Eggsy calling from the kitchen and the rattle of dog biscuits. Yes, he was hungry. No, he was not going to eat dog biscuits.

“JB's gonna eat yours as well,” Eggsy said, coming in search of him. “Not hungry?” He knelt down next to him and that strange expression was back, his lips pressed together and a faint frown on his face. It was slightly concerning. “It's so stupid,” Eggsy said. “You really remind me of him. Your eyes are just like his.”

He wasn't crying but Harry could smell the tears on him.

“So stupid,” he repeated, stroking the top of Harry's head gently.

“Oh, Eggsy.” He was so sorry.

Eggsy's eyes went wide and all the colour drained from his face.

_Oh, fuck._

He wished James had told him it was possible to speak as a dog.


	9. Chapter 9

“Oh, Eggsy.”

That voice was beyond familiar and hearing it was like an ice-pick to the heart. It haunted him. The dog was staring up at him silently while Eggsy froze, his hand still on the dog's head. He snatched it back and looked around the room.

“What the fuck?” he said softly, straining his ears. Maybe he'd imagined it. That fucking dog; the way it had Harry's eyes and looked just like Mr Pickle. It was doing his head in. Maybe he was being haunted. “More like I'm just goin' mental,” he muttered. Michelle was probably at the shops, and obviously Daisy would be with her, so there was no one else in the house to verify—what exactly?

His heart was pounding and he forced himself to take a deep breath. Fuck, what if he finally was going nuts; killing all those people had to do something to a man, right? And he knew he'd been pushing aside a lot of things lately. Burying them. Maybe they were starting to bubble up. He scrubbed at his face.

“I'm sure I heard somethin', I'm sure. Nah, nothin', nothin'. Just, you know, finally fucking losing it.” He was still kneeling on the floor and the dog was watching him with big, sad eyes, like he knew he was fucked up and feeling sorry for him. “Jesus stop lookin' at me like that,” Eggsy said. Immediately the dog dropped his head and turned away and Eggsy felt even worse; it wasn't the poor old dog's fault.

“Thought I was fucking done with this shit,” he muttered, swiping angrily at his eyes. “Sorry, Harry. Turns out I ain't all that after all.”

Something about the space in the room changed. Eggsy could feel it, like the air had been displaced.

“Eggsy.” He saw a pair of oxfords on the rug in front of him between his fingers and he slowly lowered his hands. “You don't need to apologise for anything.” He raised his gaze slowly, barely daring to breathe in case he disturbed this hallucination, dragging it up long legs, over the umbrella tucked into the crook of his arm, the neatly-buttoned suit jacket, and up to a familiar face wearing an unfamiliarly guilty look. His eyes were still framed by glasses, and they still looked at Eggsy with compassion and he _had_ seen them recently, framed by dark brown fur.

“'Arry?” he managed to get out with the last of the breath in his lungs. His heart felt like it was threatening to burst.

“The same.”

He risked looking away to glance around the room. “You were the dog?”

“I was.”

“You're dead.”

“That as well. I'm really not supposed to be here-”

“You're fucking right you're not.” Eggsy scrambled to his feet, still uncertain if he was to believe his eyes and ears. He took a half step towards him and paused, feeling slightly dizzy and overwhelmed. “Are you really real?” Cause if he wasn't that was just totally fucking unfair, but how could he be?

Eggsy wasn't sure exactly what he was asking, what sort of response he wanted, but Harry did. He stretched out his hand, leaving it up to Eggsy if he wanted to shake it or step past it and accept the polite, no-offence-taken-if-you-refuse offer of a hug.

Eggsy knew what he fucking wanted; as if Harry even needed to ask.

He stepped forward into Harry's arms, still half-expecting he'd meet empty air. He nearly started crying when he didn't. Harry was as warm and solid as he'd ever been, even if Eggsy had never stood this close to him before, and Eggsy knew the smell of his cologne (although it had faded fast from the bathroom) and the firm press of his fingers through the back of Eggsy's shirt.

Part of him just wanted to melt against Harry's body, press himself into every hollow, and part of him was screaming at him to abort mission before he did exactly that, or something even stupider. In the end he spent about five breathless seconds squeezing Harry as hard as he dared, his heart knocking in his chest so painfully it was a wonder Harry couldn't feel it through his suit, and then he stepped back, remembering to breathe. Breathing freely for the first time in _weeks_ , feeling his face pull into an uncontrollable smile. There were things he was mad about, things he wanted to talk about, things he still didn't understand but Harry was _here_ and alive and everything, everything was going to be brilliant. He'd never complain about anything ever again, he swore.

“Welcome back, Harry.”

“I'm not really back, Eggsy. Things are a bit complicated.”

“I'm sorry, about the things I said last time.” It had made him miserable, replaying that last awful conversation in his mind, and now it seemed utterly irrelevant but he owed Harry an apology anyway.

“You're forgiven. I admit I was a bit harsh.” Harry frowned, as if he'd remembered something. “Sit down, Eggsy. I'll make us some tea.”

Eggsy sat, and it was only after Harry had left to go to the kitchen that Eggsy remembered that it wasn't actually his house any more, and that Harry himself was the guest. He'd just obeyed without thinking.

“Um, the tea's in the lower cupboard,” he called. Michelle was nowhere near as tall as Harry was, and the kitchen had been rearranged to move the more heavily used items closer to ground level.

“I found it,” Harry said, returning a few minutes later, empty-handed. He stuck his hands in his pockets and look at the ground for a moment. “Eggsy, would you do something for me?”

“Yeah. Of course. Anythin'.” Eggsy stood up and felt a spike of apprehension in his gut when he saw the look on Harry's face. His concern didn't lessen when he heard what Harry said next.

“Get a gun.”

Eggsy kept his weapons locked away in his room and he returned swiftly, pistol held down by his side. Harry hadn't moved, but when Eggsy returned he tilted his head for him to follow and led him downstairs to the kitchen. The kettle had just come off the boil.

Eggsy was too worried to feel guilty about the mess the place was in. Picking up after Daisy was a task that was both thankless and apparently endless. As Eggsy had expected, JB had polished off both bowls of biscuits and was sleeping off his second and third breakfasts in his basket, his tongue peeking out of his mouth.

Harry stepped aside.

“Shoot the dog,” he said gently.

“ _What_? But this gun is-”

“Loaded. I know. Don't wake him up; you'll make it harder.”

“Harry, what? Why? They gave me your name, it's fine-”

“It's not a test,” Harry said sharply, and sadly. “It's a request. I'm asking you. Please shoot the dog. I promise I'll tell you why.”

Eggsy stared at his mentor, but Harry gave nothing away, just an iron determination that Eggsy should do this. Eggsy looked at JB, still sleeping soundly. It hadn't been hard to defy Arthur; he'd felt like shit about it because he was letting Harry down, but he didn't regret taking JB home with him, safe and sound. He regretted it after, when he was told about the blanks, but he knew the gun he held now was loaded with .9mm hollowpoints that would turn the dog to mush.

Harry had come back from the dead. He'd been a dog himself. Who was Eggsy to argue with this dream logic? If he couldn't trust Harry, who was worth trusting at all? He raised the pistol and fired.

He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't JB's body jerking as half his head disappeared in a fine red mist. He'd expected—there had to have been...

“No,” he moaned, covering his mouth with his free hand. How could he? His own dog.

“Good,” Harry said, and Eggsy nearly pulled the gun on him, but Harry was walking away, two swift steps to the pantry and he opened the door.

For the second time that morning Eggsy fell to his knees as JB trotted out of the pantry, his belly bulging from his breakfasts, nosing at Harry's shoes briefly before sensing Eggsy's distress and hurrying over to his arms, licking along his jaw as Eggsy looked at the corpse in the basket and then up at Harry, hugging JB against his chest.

“What are you, some sort of magician now?” His throat felt raw and he was beginning to feel wrung out. He'd never really understood the phrase 'emotional roller-coaster' until about fifteen minutes ago.

“Yes, actually. That is an empty corpse. Dead before you drew your gun. Much like the one of mine that was brought back from Kentucky.”

“You're gonna tell me why you did this, Harry,” Eggsy said, still hugging JB to his chest, his teeth gritted.

“I gave you my word.”

That took the wind out of his sails a bit, and Eggsy just nodded. “Good then.”

There was a clatter from the front door, the sound of a key in the lock and Daisy's voice.

“Shit, Mum's back.”

“Delay her,” Harry said. “I'll take care of this,” he nodded at the basket. “We need to talk.”

“Study,” Eggsy said, getting to his feet. He was halfway out of the room, tucking his gun into his pocket when he paused. “Oh, it's locked.”

Harry just gave him a _look_ and Eggsy smiled. Right. Like Harry couldn't get into his own study. Eggsy was a mess, and he pulled himself together and went to greet Michelle.

“Nice timin',” he said. “I just boiled the kettle. Here, you want me to take the bags or Daisy? 'Ello Daisy.”

“JB! JB!” Daisy said.

“Yeah, it's JB.”

“Not at the office today?” Michelle asked, as Eggsy took the shopping off the back of Daisy's pram.

“Not 'til later. Went out for a walk and then accidentally gave JB two breakfasts,” he laughed. And shot him in the head, he added mentally; he was going to feel a bit guilty about that for a while yet.

“You'll spoil that dog.”

They made their way into the kitchen, and Harry was long gone, as was the corpse of not-JB, and the bloodied blankets that had been in the basket. Michelle didn't seem to notice they were missing, still fussing with Daisy.

It took Eggsy a while to get away. Daisy wanted juice and there were groceries to put away and he told Michelle to have a cup of tea and he'll take care of it. By the time he was carrying a cup of tea up to the study he was starting to wonder if Harry had been some sort of strange waking dream. It was if he'd never been. Only JB's missing blankets told him otherwise.

The study door was locked. Eggsy took a deep breath before fishing out his keys one-handed and opening it.

Harry was sitting behind the desk just as he was all those months ago when Eggsy had first seen this room, in shirtsleeves and holsters, although Eggsy noticed this time he was still wearing his pistols. Whatever he was doing now, he was still keeping his hand in. He looked up as Eggsy came in, closing the door behind him. Eggsy felt himself sag with relief.

“Tea?”

“Thank you, Eggsy.” He smiled, but it was a tired, sad smile.

“May I sit?”

“It's your house.”

“Then shouldn't you have asked me if you could sit then?”

“Cheeky.” The smile was a bit warmer and Eggsy dropped into the other chair. “I like what you've done with the place,” Harry said, looking at the newspapers framed on the walls.

“I didn't want to just get rid of 'em,” Eggsy said.

Harry sipped his tea. He seemed different, uncertain somehow as to where to begin, and Eggsy wondered if he felt guilty. Well, so he should.

“It was really hard,” Eggsy said. “Goin' to your funeral.”

“I can imagine it was.”

“Harry, what happened?”

“I died. I got half my head blown away, and the last thing I remember was sheer disbelief that my number had come up.” Eggsy drew breath to argue but Harry shot him a look to indicate he wasn't done yet. “I died and was resurrected by a powerful ritual enacted nearly thirty years ago when I became a Kingsman.” He paused, waiting for Eggsy to object.

“I'm listening.”

“The training you are put through is not just about making you a spy. There is a baptism.”

_The water rising over the bedclothes._

“A burial.”

_Screaming as the train roared just inches over his head._

“And a blood sacrifice.”

_Shoot the dog._

“The last element both does and doesn't happen so the ritual hangs on the cusp of completion. Normally it is a real dog and a fake bullet, but that wasn't going to fool you twice so I swapped them.”

“A real bullet and a fake dog,” Eggsy said. “So now what?”

“The ritual hangs about you, slack and incomplete. A real sacrifice, your death, will complete it. When you die, you'll come back to life, like I did. And you'll be able to do magic, like I do, and you will leave your life behind and continue to be a Kingsman and no one will be the wiser, like I should have.”

“Magic,” Eggsy said. “Like you turnin' into Mr Pickle.”

“Yes.”

“I'll turn into JB?”

“I expect so.”

Eggsy groaned, “Why didn't I pick the German Shepard?”

“I only found out a few hours ago myself how it worked,” Harry said he looked so resigned Eggsy could only grin.

“Hey Harry.”

“Yes?”

“Guess what?”

“What?”

“Yer a wizard, 'Arry!” Eggsy crowed gleefully.

Harry gave him a long-suffering look. “Ah yes, how I have missed your sense of humour.”

Eggsy winked, “Admit it, you missed the whole package.”

“Perhaps.”

Eggsy wasn't expecting that and he was suddenly shy, and he found the corner of Harry's desk very interesting as he tried not to smile. Fuck it, he smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay with this chapter; the family was in town. Normal service should now resume. Thank you for your patience.

“So you came here to make sure I completed the ritual properly?” Eggsy asked. He supposed he had to believe Harry; he'd seen him turn back from being a dog, after all, but after twenty-three years in a world without magic, it was going to take a while to sink in properly. He wondered how Harry had taken it; Harry himself looked tired and distracted. Happy to see him, yes, but he clearly had other things on his mind as well.

“No, actually. It didn't occur to me that you could complete it until you mentioned our argument. I came here to save your life.”

“From those blokes? Harry, I appreciate the thought, but I coulda taken them with one arm behind my back.”

“They weren't human. So no, you couldn't. Think about it; what did they feel like?” He was back in teaching mode again, and Eggsy automatically sat up straighter, paying attention.

Eggsy frowned. “Tough. Really tough. Like, I figured they were trained; not just ordinary guys going after a little dog.” There had been something odd about it. It reminded him of when he'd pissed off a guy high on fucking speed or something coming out of a club. He didn't seem to feel anything Eggsy threw at him and in the end he'd turned and run just to get away.

“What were they then?”

“A wizard can knot bits and pieces of leftover things into, well one of those. Then animate it. They don't always look human, but I suppose they needed to blend in until they found you. I don't know how it's done exactly, but it’s not pleasant magic.”

“How do I kill them?” Eggsy asked, determined, but braced to be told it was impossible.

“Tear them apart. Literally. Explosives, a shotgun at close range, an axe or a chainsaw maybe. Things you wouldn't normally think to use in a fight in the street.”

“No kidding,” Eggsy said faintly, but he filed the information away. “So a wizard was trying to kill me?”

Harry set his cup down on the desk and bowed his head. “You're going to get a call from Merlin soon.”

“I was supposed to go away today but I got a text sayin' to stay put for now.” Harry's expression made Eggsy's stomach clench unhappily. “You know why, don’t you?”

“Percival's dead.”

“You mean he's a wizard,” Eggsy said, knowing otherwise just from Harry's face.

Harry shook his head. “We tried. I tried. The ritual worked but something—someone—interfered. We don't know how. But he's gone.”

“But how did they get Percival?” Eggsy didn't know him that well, but he always struck him as frighteningly efficient. Roxy always said he was brilliant, that he was always five steps ahead of his opponent. At the very least he was a respected Kingsman agent.

“They attacked his guard and set fire to his house while the wizard guarding him was occupied. The Kingsmen are under magical attack, Eggsy. And you would have been next, I fear. In fact, I would expect you are still in a certain amount of danger.”

“Do you know who's doing it?”

“We haven't a clue. But in choosing to defy every directive I've been given, I might be able to acquire one. Eggsy, how is the investigation into Arthur's death going?”

Eggsy's jaw dropped. “Ah,” he said. “Wait, is Chester still alive?”

“Yes, he was retrieved as normal.” Harry was looking at him thoughtfully, and Eggsy could only guess what he was reading off his face.

“I see. Well, there ain't an investigation because we know who did him in. And so does he,” Eggsy added in a harder tone. Deep breath. “It was me. Or rather, he tried to kill me and killed himself by accident.”

Eggsy thought he should probably try and remember this moment, because he doubted Harry would wear that look of sheer shock on his face very often. His eyebrows raised above the rim of his glasses and his lips slightly parted.

“Valentine got to him, Harry! He felt guilty about you and offered me your spot in Valentine's new fucking world order and I told him where to shove it. And I swapped the glasses he poured and he ended up poisoning himself.” Eggsy forced himself to keep his voice down in case Michelle could hear him, but he spoke urgently, willing Harry to believe him. “Ask Merlin if you want. You do believe me, don't you?”

Please believe me, he thought.

Harry nodded. “Yes, I believe you. I don't know what this all means, but I believe you.” He didn’t even take that long to think about it, and Eggsy felt a little guilty for doubting that he would. Harry had always believed in him, after all. Even now. Harry looked around at the newspapers on the walls, and Eggsy could see his mind working, trying to fit this new information in with what he already knew. “I can't ask Merlin anyway. You are going to have to pretend that none of this ever happened. Not a word, Eggsy.”

“Got it.” Eggsy said firmly, even as he knew it was going to be hard hiding the fact that he knew Harry was still alive. He’d have to pretend to be secretly miserable. “But what do we do now?”

“Start from scratch. Chester's death wasn't an outside attack, so it’s not where we start looking.” Harry narrowed his eyes. “He always said it was, and that’s how he knew to send us out when Gawain was targeted. It proved he was right.”

“You think he's doing it?” Eggsy asked.

“I don't see how. Magic isn't easy; I'm barely-” he cut himself off that train of thought. “Why would he? He dedicated his life to the Kingsmen. Nearly fifty years of loyal service.” Harry shook his head.

“He hated me, Harry. People like me. Like we was just rubbish clutterin' up the world. He agreed with Valentine. Just wanted to save his own skin.” Eggsy felt his anger drain away, as he realised Harry had probably lost two friends today. “I'm sorry, Harry.”

“So am I. We didn't get on all that well, but he was a constant in my life for a long time. Since I died, it's been rather hard to adjust to some things and to know someone else was going through it with me was comforting.”

They fell silent. Harry laced his fingers together and stared at nothing, thinking, and Eggsy stared at Harry, still making sure he was actually there. He wanted to be useful, to offer comfort or suggestions or something, but he didn’t know where to begin, and he found himself just uselessly staring, tracing the lines on Harry's face with his eyes, following the wave of his hair. He'd never thought he'd see these things again, and he drank him in.

His phone rang.

“Merlin,” he said as he answered it, Harry’s eyes on his face.

“I wish you'd wear your glasses. You need to come in.”

“Understood, I'll see you soon.”

He sighed and put the device away. “Roxy's gonna be cut. She and Percival were like, penpals or somethin'. He sent her a card for taking out one of Valentine's satellites.” She had it taped up on the fridge in her house. Eggsy stood up. “I gotta tell you about that sometime, yeah?” Except for the whole princess incident he was kind of proud of that one, and Harry ought to know what had happened to the man who’d killed him. Eggsy paused as a thought struck him. “I mean, I will see you again, right?”

Harry looked at him for a long moment, and just when Eggsy was trying to resign himself to a lifetime of staring mournfully at terriers, he said, “Actually, I think I'll come with you if you don't mind.”

“Seriously?” Eggsy grinned.

“Well, not like this, obviously. I need proof of what Chester did.”

“What, they ain’t gonna believe you?”

“No, they probably won’t,” Harry said. “Chester is an institution. He’s a son of one of the founders; that he should be a traitor is something unthinkable to most Kingsmen. If I confront him, I expect he will accuse you of making it all up.”

“But you believe me.”

“Yes, but I doubt the others will.” Harry actually looked a bit uncomfortable, and Eggsy was very curious as to why. Harry answered his unspoken question. “My, well, regard for you is well known.”

“What?” Eggsy asked, his voice a little softer and squeakier than he’d have liked.

“I was so proud of you when you inherited my title. And there’s the matter of not only letting you in on the secrets of the universe, but the secrets of Kingsman as well. It would be all too easy for Chester to paint me as hopelessly compromised. Not least because I failed my mission this morning and then went running to you.”

“Oh.” Regard, huh? So Harry had spent the last month at Hogwarts saying how great he was. It made Eggsy feel all warm just thinking about it and he forced himself to focus. “So you need proof to challenge the king. I guess that makes sense. Like his autopsy report? He had one of them chips implanted; that’ll be on the report.”

“Maybe, but they could be faked,” Harry said. “But what I’d really like to get my hands on are Arthur’s papers. When an Arthur dies they’re sealed for his successor. If we could get some idea of what Chester’s plans were while he was alive, maybe we could work out what’s actually going on.”

“You want me to grab ‘em for you next time I’m there?”

“Eggsy, Arthur’s papers are not something one merely grabs from his desk drawer. It will involve breaking into the highest level of Kingsman’s security. I think it’s going to take both of us.”

A slow smile spread across Eggsy’s face. He’d missed him so much. Trust Harry to bring a bit of excitement into his life. “Welcome back, Harry,” he said fervently.

Harry gave him a look that suggested he knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Get your suit on,” Harry said.

“I’ll be right back.” Eggsy hurried off, careful to lock the door behind him and practically stripped on the way to his room, shouldering the door closed while hopping on one foot as he yanked his trainers off.

He hadn’t worn the suit Harry had made for him since he’d gotten a replacement. He’d been saving it; planning on making it last as long as possible, not wanting to see it get damaged and dirty. Kingsman suits took a lot of punishment, but Merlin said most agents went through at least two a year.

Now, however, he was pushing aside his other clothes, taking off the plastic it had come back from dry-cleaning in. He had to hurry; Merlin hadn’t said it was an emergency but he had said several times that he hoped he hadn’t inherited Harry’s tardy tendencies.

Eggsy tugged and buttoned and straightened and stared at himself in the mirror, without his glasses he looked less like Harry and more like himself. When he walked down the hallway to the study again, his heart rate picked up a little.

He opened the door swiftly and stepped in.

“What do you think?”

Harry was pulling on his jacket and watching the street out the window through the curtains when Eggsy came in. He turned around slowly and Eggsy lifted his head, pulled his shoulders back proudly.

Maybe they were in a hurry, but Harry took his time, crossing the room in slow, easy strides, looking him up and down, like this was an important moment and he didn't intend to rush it. Eggsy wasn’t sure anyone had ever given him a visual going over like this before. He waited for Harry to meet his eyes.

“I think it turned out rather well,” Harry said, a pleased and proud little smile on his face. “And the suit looks very good too, if I say so myself.”

“Flatterer.” Oh God, he was so flattered.

“That’s not how a gentleman accepts a compliment, Eggsy.”

“Ta, Harry. You’re too kind.” But he was grinning so widely his cheeks ached.

“Also,” he frowned slightly. “You aren’t obligated to use quite that much hair gel.”

“You’ll have to show me the correct amount sometime then, right?”

“Perhaps. We need to get going.” He picked up his umbrella.

“How am I supposed to get a dog into HQ anyway?” Eggsy asked.

“You’re a Kingsman. Surely you can come up with a cover story.”

“Right. You gonna show me then?” Eggsy had missed the transformation last time, and he had no intention of missing it again.

“If you want.” Harry braced himself, like he expected a weight to fall on him, and he muttered something under his breath. It looked like he was bending down to pick something up off the floor, but Eggsy had trouble getting perspective; he suddenly seemed a lot further away, and Eggsy’s eyes stung like he was looking at some sort of illusion. Look at it one way, and you have Harry Hart, looking from another perspective, you see a dog.

And then he couldn't see the Harry perspective at all, and only the dog was left.

Eggsy had watched the whole thing, but he still didn’t understand what he’d seen. His brain just told him his eyes were deceiving him, and he felt if he thought about it too much he'd end up with a headache.

“Harry?”

“Yes.” The dog didn’t seem to talk, Harry’s voice just sort of emanated from it.

“That’s kind of cool, but it’s also really fucking weird.”

“I agree.”

Harry waited silently by the door while Eggsy went to say goodbye to Michelle and Daisy. As always when Michelle asked him when he’d be back he could only shrug and be non-committal.

“As soon as I can,” was his preferred answer, but it wasn’t quite honest this time. He had Harry with him now and whatever happened, he was looking forward to it, however long it would take.


	11. Chapter 11

Eggsy handled getting Harry into the shop as well as Harry had expected; that is, flawlessly. He greeted the tailoring staff professionally as he strode through to the elevator, acting like there was nothing whatsoever untoward about having a Yorkshire Terrier trotting at his heels. They gave Harry a couple of odd looks, but Eggsy was not required to explain and they merely wished him a good morning.

It was almost as odd to be back in the shop as it was to be in his own house. The facade might fool people, but Harry's nose told him all about the gun oil and other odd things that one would not expect to smell in a tailor's shop. Harry didn't pay all that much attention; the shop was just as he'd left it and he had other things on his mind.

Chester.

It was some sort of sense of professionalism that had held Harry back from telling Eggsy how little love was lost between them. Up until this morning, Harry had respected the man but he'd never liked him. Even so, the idea that he might be deliberately sabotaging Kingsman had come as a shock.

But it was making sense. The rituals involved in killing Percival were a match for the skilled and experienced Tristan, but the creatures sent after Eggsy were designed only to take advantage of his ignorance. Even Harry would have been able to destroy them if he hadn't been confined to a dog shape. So whoever had sent them knew both that Percival would be guarded and that Eggsy wasn't.

Now he thought about it, it seemed clear that it was one of their own. He still didn't know why or how; Chester had not been a wizard long. Maybe he had help. Harry knew at this point he was practically a rogue agent and if he wasn't careful he was going to end up getting Eggsy the same label. Not that Eggsy looked at all troubled by any of this; he hadn't even hesitated to help.

He had so much faith in him, Harry wasn't sure he deserved it.

“Oh my God,” Eggsy said, giving Harry a horrified look as something struck him. They were on the underground rail road, Harry perched on the seat opposite Eggsy while they were silently rushed beneath the English countryside. “I took you to the _vet_. I am so sorry, Harry.”

“At least you didn't have me fixed while you were there.” Harry would rather the incident be entirely forgotten.

“How can you even joke about that?” Eggsy moaned, squirming at the thought.

Even though Eggsy's glasses were still off, and Harry suspected he'd be chipped for that later, he'd resisted the urge to say much. He had to focus, and Eggsy had to focus, although so far he hadn't been doing a wonderful job.

Eggsy's face was a symphony of changing expressions. He'd look at Harry and grin with relief and then he'd remember where they were going and look worried and then he'd look guilty, presumably recalling Percival's death and Harry hoped he managed to get it together by the time they arrived at HQ. He'd put Eggsy through a lot this morning, but he wasn't the only one and they had things to do. They could debrief properly later, he hoped.

And they would debrief. He wasn't just going to hit him with an amnesia dart and pretend he'd never been. Eggsy's grief, still so raw and heartbreaking after these weeks, was what had prompted him to reveal himself in the first place and he couldn't bring himself to inflict it on Eggsy again. He hadn't been thinking about Kingsman, or even Eggsy's unfinished ritual, he'd only wanted to comfort him and if he was being honest Eggsy's sheer joy at his resurrection (they way he'd held him so tightly, like he never intended to let go) had made it all worthwhile.

This was why they were ordered to stay away from their old lives, but disobeying had paid off; he had a lead that he would never have gotten from any other source, but he knew even if he hadn't he'd have a hard time regretting his actions. For now anyway.

He swayed in his seat as the tube came to a halt.

“Here we go,” Eggsy said, taking out his glasses. Harry hopped down onto the floor. He still felt sore and stiff from his earlier fight, although it didn't seem to carry over when he was human. Small mercies.

He trotted at Eggsy's heels as he strode into HQ and made straight for Merlin's office.

“Good morning, Merlin.”

Harry couldn't hear Merlin's response through the glasses but Eggsy quickened his stride some.

“Jesus, how?” Eggsy breathed, doing a good job of pretending the news was a surprise. Duplicitous little shit could fool even Merlin over the airwaves at least, and Harry was very proud of him, even as he regretted the circumstances under which he had to prove it.

He regretted so much about this morning already, but he had to hold it back, the desire to mourn, until it was safe for him to do so. Rage and grief and guilt were not useful on the field, and he'd had long years of holding them in check.

“How's Roxy? Yeah. I understand.”

He paused and knocked on Merlin's door and gave Harry a significant look as he waited for permission to enter.

“It was an historic house,” Merlin said as Eggsy stepped inside, giving Harry just enough time to slip in behind him before closing the door. “Not only are the police and fire investigation unit there but we've got press as well. Why weren't you here half an hour ago?” Merlin added without changing tone. He glanced at Eggsy, slight double-take, and then he looked down at Harry himself. “What's that?”

“It's a dog, Merlin.”

“What is it doing here?”

“Some blokes were treating the poor thing like a football. I couldn't just leave him. The vet said he needs watching to keep an eye out for internal injuries.”

_Not too bad._

“And where is his rightful owner?”

“I dunno,” Eggsy said. Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up on his forehead and Eggsy plunged on. “Look, he ain't gonna be a bother. He's very well trained. Sit, boy.”

Harry sat.

“I hope this isn't going to be a new hobby,” Merlin said. He looked haggard and worried and too distracted to even be annoyed with any real fire. He got up and knelt down to pat Harry on the head. Harry knew Mr Pickle's charm was working its magic again as Merlin muttered, “Who'd do something like that to a dog?”

Harry didn't particularly want to be under Merlin's scrutiny for too long. He wasn't a dog; he was just pretending, and if anyone would pick up on that it was Merlin. So he did the only thing he could think of, and bounced up on his hind legs and slobbered enthusiastically on Merlin's chin.

“Ugh!” Merlin's vocal reaction was exactly how Harry felt about it. He'd never had any desire to taste Merlin's aftershave, but he kept at it until Eggsy told him 'Sit!' and 'Down!' and when Harry looked up at him his expression was quite shocked and weirdly a little hurt.

“Yes, well,” Merlin stood up and wiped his face with his handkerchief. “Lancelot is on the scene impersonating a police officer, although I don't expect we'll be able to get much information ourselves. I'm acquiring the data collected by the arson team as they upload it and sending it on to our experts, although they seem to be doing a thorough job so far. The police will inform Percival's family, although one of us will pay them a quieter visit later.”

“So it was definitely arson then?”

“Of course it was. I'm going through the data on Percival's past missions, cross-referencing anyone who might have a grudge and the resources to find him. I should have a short list within half an hour. You are going to pay each of them a visit. There will be no need to be gentle, Galahad.”

“Understood.”

“The dog can stay here, I suppose. Put him in the kennel; I'll make sure he gets fed and looked after.” Merlin grimaced at his handkerchief and Eggsy took his leave. He also took off his glasses.

“Half an hour,” Harry said quietly, hurrying ahead. He had no intention of hanging around long enough to end up in the kennels.

“Harry,” Eggsy said with a reproachful tone. “Why'd you lick Merlin's face?”

“What, you're jealous I didn't lick yours?”

Eggsy's silence was telling. Harry couldn't decide if he was touched or annoyed. _Honestly, Eggsy._

“Because I wanted his attention elsewhere and I knew it would induce him to go and disinfect his head. It would just encourage you.”

Eggsy strode purposefully to Arthur's office,  but they didn't meet anyone; HQ got rather empty when  Kingsman wasn't recruiting . The meeting room at the Kingsman shop was not where Arthur spent most of his time; the shop itself could be burned and abandoned as a last resort, and thus the important Kingsman files and papers were all kept within the fortifications of HQ.

“I've never been in here before,” Eggsy said, as they halted outside Arthur's door.

“Oh I have,” Harry said.

Eggsy must have caught something in his tone because he grinned, “Called in to the headmaster's office often, were you?” He opened the door.

Arthur's office was just as Harry remembered it, and it even smelled of Chester still; no one had occupied it since. Eggsy stepped in cautiously, looking around at the antique furnishings and the cold fireplace while Harry darted in ahead.

“Close the door.”

He was back on two feet by the time Eggsy did so; it was getting easier to go from one state to the other already.

“I expect Merlin's already gone through the desk. I'm going to try and get into the archive.”

“Secret room behind the bookcase?” Eggsy asked.

“Of course.” Harry stood close to the bookcase, looking for something off, something out of place. He waited until he was satisfied he'd found the mechanism before he confidently reached behind the books and pressed a knothole in the dark wood. The case made a soft 'clunk' before silently swinging open. Eggsy was watching, after all, and it wouldn't do to fumble around needlessly.

“Not bad,” Eggsy said.

Behind it was a solid steel door, beautifully engraved with abstract designs but no less practical for all of that. In the exact centre of the door was a keyhole.

“Who's got the key?” Eggsy asked.

“It'll be in one of Merlin's safes, locked to his hand-print. This door predates all of that technology. Luckily for us.”

“Are you going to pick the lock?”

“No. The key itself is a lock with its own mechanism, if I recall; almost impossible to pick. You could use explosives, although.” He pressed his fingertips to the cold metal and felt them buzz. “There's a spell on it but I don't know what it does.”

“Is it safe to open it then?”

“Nothing is safe, but we have no choice but to press on.” Harry took a stick of chalk out of his pocket, and started drawing a circle on the door, filling it with flourishes and runes. This was so fucking _slow_ and he wasn't entirely sure it was going to work. Eventually he took out his notebook and consulted it for the correct shapes, as his memory finally failed him on the finer points of the ritual for opening a door.

When it looked about as good as it was going to get, Harry put the chalk away, spat on his palm, and slammed his hand against the door. He felt the hard steel  _give_ under his hand  and he understood, as Eggsy looked on in awe, how such power might become addictive .

Bolts slid back from three places and the door swung inward under his touch.  Harry waited a few heartbeats, alert to what the magic on the door might do, but nothing seemed to happen. Within moments  Eggsy was at his elbow, peering in.

The room beyond was quite small, little more than a steel box large enough to stand in filled with bookshelves.

There was not a single book.

Harry shifted his jaw, considering.

“Shit,” Eggsy said. “He took it with him.”

Harry clenched and unclenched his hands in frustration and then froze. Someone was coming.

“Galahad!” Eggsy spun around guiltily as Merlin burst into the room, glaring at him and it took all of Harry's self control to duck as soon as he heard the door opening and not do the same. Merlin sounded absolutely ropeable. “What the bloody hell do you think you're playing at? One of our own is dead and you're-” He cut himself off as he looked at the open door behind Eggsy. Harry was on the floor by this point, four legs carrying him under Arthur's desk as stealthily as possible.

“Merlin, we've been robbed.” Eggsy took out his glasses and put them on and Harry shuffled further under the desk as he watched Merlin's feet approaching.

“What are you doing in here?”

“The door was open, wasn't it? Both of 'em! Don't look at me like that. I may be a light-fingered gent but I'd hardly make off with a whole roomful of whatever was in here. What _was_ in here?”

“I don't know. Arthur's eyes only. It's the inherited knowledge of the Kingsmen. Chester never spoke of it.”

“And now someone's nicked it,” Eggsy said.

“It's impossible. No one could get in here even if they _knew_ about it. Shit!” He fell silent for a moment. “Eggsy, where's the dog?”


	12. Chapter 12

Merlin was clearly suspicious and Harry didn't blame him. Eggsy was doing a pretty good job, all things considered, but there were just too much weirdness this morning to be excused entirely.

Eggsy hesitated infinitesimally and said, “You frightened him under the table when you stormed in like that. Come here, boy.”

Harry obediently stuck his head out from under the desk, doing his best to look sweet and harmless as both Eggsy and Merlin glanced down at him. It was a good call on Eggsy's part not to lie. Merlin narrowed his eyes.

“What the fuck is going on?” he grated out.

Eggsy looked at him with wide, spooked eyes and shrugged.

“What are these?” Merlin said, indicating the chalk marks all over the doors.

“Are they not supposed to be there?” Eggsy asked innocently.

“I don’t know, do I? We don’t even know how long it’s been empty.” Merlin stepped forward into the tiny space and as soon as he crossed the threshold both he and Eggsy put their hands up to their glasses.

“Ah! What?” Eggsy flinched.

“Interference,” Merlin said, looking deeply unhappy, tapping away at his tablet.

Interference.

Harry pricked his ears up. Something was here—no, something had _always_ been here, but now it had been let out. He barked loudly, making both Eggsy and Merlin jump, and then he bit Eggsy’s trouser leg and pulled, growling. Time to go.

“Alright, let’s go. Come on, Merlin.” Eggsy had taken off his glasses but Merlin was still wrestling with his, trying to contact the command centre down the hall and tapping at his clipboard.

“Go where?” Merlin asked, looking down at Harry. “Do you do everything the dog tells you to?”

“In this case,” Eggsy said. “Yes, yes I do.”

Harry was still trying to work out what it was he could sense. It wasn’t a constructed thing, it was magic unfamiliar and yet not. Whatever it was, it was Kingsman magic, designed to protect whatever secrets Arthur had been privy to. And he didn’t want to find out what it would do to thieves.

“Come on!” Eggys pleaded. Harry had released Eggsy’s trouser leg and was wondering if he’d have more luck with Merlin when Eggsy grabbed Merlin by the upper arm and yanked him away.

Mistake, Eggsy. Harry could see Merlin’s eyes practically go black. He did not take kindly to his things being touched, or his personal space invaded.

And they didn’t have time for an argument about it, either.

“Listen you little-” Merlin started to snarl through his teeth.

“Merlin, just take his word for it.” Harry said, returning to his true form.

Merlin’s jaw sagged and for perhaps the first time Harry could remember, he was utterly lost for words. Harry grabbed his collar and hauled him towards the door and this time Merlin didn’t fight back, stumbling after him while Eggsy kept pace.

“Harry?” he asked softly, staring at his face, looking for the trick.

“Brilliant, innit?” Eggsy said, the grin splitting his face as wide as if he’d resurrected Harry personally. “What’s going on, Harry? My glasses sound like they accidentally dialled a fax machine.”

“Interference,” Harry muttered as the lights died.

“HQ has its own generators,” Merlin. “Why have we lost power? I can’t raise anyone. Command centre, this is Merlin. Do you copy?”

“What happened, Harry? When Merlin stepped into that room everything went odd,” he trailed off as Harry led them at a jog down the corridor.

“It broke a circle and whatever was inside was released.”

“What do we do?”

I don’t know, I don’t have a clue. Fuck. Why am I in the middle of this when I barely know how to unlock a door, was what Harry really wanted to say, but that would have been unhelpful so he kept his mouth shut. HQ was quite dull and gloomy without interior lights, even on a reasonably bright day.

Harry was leading them out and away without a destination in mind. The secret rail-road and the garage wouldn’t be useful without power and if they had to go cross-country so be it. He didn’t even know if a bloody car would start under these circumstances.

He skidded to a halt upon seeing the figure silhouetted against the elegant glass window at the end of the corridor. His outline wasn’t easy to make out, but Harry thought he was male and wearing a suit, albeit a rather old-fashioned one. He was holding what Harry thought was Lee-Enfield rifle.

“Oi!” Eggsy shouted. “Who are you?” So he could see him as well.

The figure didn’t move so much as suddenly seem a lot closer than he had been a moment ago. He had a face, one familiar to Harry.

“That’s Edward Darling,” Merlin said.

“ _What_? You got a boyfriend?” Eggsy asked.

“Darling is his surname. His portrait hangs in the meeting room,” Merlin said. “He’s one of Kingsman’s founders. The first Percival.” Harry saw him glance at him out of the corner of his eye. “Is everyone coming back from the dead today?”

“I don’t think he’s come back,” Harry said. He could feel the unreality of him, a pure sense of purpose. “I suppose you could describe him as a ghost.”

The figure raised the rifle and Harry automatically opened his umbrella and ducked behind it, Eggsy and Merlin taking cover behind him. Eggsy drew two of his pistols. Pain lanced up Harry's arm, like he’d jarred it, every nerve from his wrist to his shoulder alight, but when he looked at his hand he seemed uninjured.

 _Step aside, Kingsman_.

“Right, he doesn’t want to hurt me. Or he can’t.” Harry could feel the blood in the veins of his arm, warm and alive as it surged through his flesh, and as a sensation it was entirely unnerving.

The ghost calmly reloaded his rifle.

The blood of an Englishman, Harry thought.

“Stay close,” he said, and drew his blade.

“Fucking wicked,” Eggsy said as he stared at it.

“Why is nothing _working_?” Merlin said through his teeth, tapping his stylus against his clipboard so hard it was a wonder he didn't crack it.

“Magic, see?” Eggsy said. “Don’t worry, Harry’s got it.”

Harry didn't correct him, but despite Eggsy's faith he was just guessing this was the right thing to do. He pressed the button on the umbrella handle and the ghost rippled away slightly as his blood slid down the blade. Harry didn’t have time to try a proper ritual, and instead he drew a plain circle around the three of them.

“Don’t step over it,” Harry said. He flinched as the ghost fired its rifle again. There was no sound, but he could see the kick against its shoulder. It didn’t seem to do anything and the ghost tossed the weapon aside and it vanished like smoke before it hit the ground.

Eggsy crammed himself up against Harry’s shoulder, probably closer than was strictly necessary, now he thought about it. He didn’t have time to think about it. He felt like his head was full of bees.

Interference, he thought. Like more than radio waves were getting scrambled.

“What do we do now?” Eggsy asked.

“I don’t know. Reason with him? We didn’t steal anything; someone else did.”

“Someone who didn’t wake him up by breaking in. Someone with a key,” Eggsy said significantly.

“Will you two tell me what the fuck is going on?” Merlin asked.

“It’s Chester,” Eggsy said, clearly enjoying having more information than Merlin did for once.

“Oh, he’s alive as well, is he?”

“Actually yeah,” Eggsy said.

The ghost was standing near the circle, peering at it like he was trying to see through fog. Up close he looked rather like an ordinary person, but he lacked the presence, the weight that real people did, and he didn’t seem to move so much as glide from one state to another and Harry couldn’t quite tell what he was looking at or which direction he was really facing. He didn’t seem to hear them talking.

_Kingsman, why have you hidden it?_

Harry flipped through his notebook, although he knew he hadn’t even read the part about laying ghosts in his spellbook at home. It had looked complicated and finicky and not something he was likely to need on a mission so he'd skipped it in favour of cursing taxis and opening locks.

“Any good?” Eggsy asked hopefully.

Harry didn't reply. He could hear the sea somewhere inside him, and the echo of it in the empty shell that hovered just outside the ring of blood. Edward belonged there, and the sea inside him rose, trying to claim what belonged to it. Harry could barely breathe. He had no idea what he should do, and all he felt was guilt that he might see Eggsy and Merlin drown beside him. The thing that lurked in the deep blue sea would claim them, ritual or not, even as he dissolved forever.

He could feel a chill of sweat on his brow.

 _Ah._ _Yes, Arthur._ The ghost straightened up and then receded into the distance, until he was no more than an eye-burning speck against the lighted window.

“Shit,” Harry said. The sea retreated and his knees felt weak. He kept looking away, not wanting either of them to see his face until he'd reassembled his composure.

“Is he gone?” Eggsy asked.

The lights flickered uncertainly for a few moments and then came back on, and Merlin touched his glasses, giving a string of orders to whoever was on the other end. Harry took out his handkerchief and dabbed at the wound on his thumb.

“Oh thank fuck,” Eggsy said, holstering his weapons. “I thought we were stuck there.”

“Arthur called him back, presumably to report,” Harry said. “It’s probably wise to act as if Chester is onto us.”

“What do we do now?” Eggsy asked. “He nicked all the stuff.”

“Galahad,” Merlin said.

“Yes?” they chorused, and Merlin smiled faintly. “Harry then. What’s my name?”

Harry looked at him for a moment and then stepped close to speak into his ear. When he stepped back again, Merlin’s eyes were moist.

“It is you. You were.” He took a breath. “You were missed, by all of us.”

Harry held out his hand, and Merlin shook it.

“I’m sorry about all of this, Merlin.” He glanced at Eggsy, “You as well. This isn’t going to be easy.” The blade he had hidden in his other palm sliced easily through the band of Merlin’s watch and with one deft movement he stripped it off his wrist and fired the amnesia dart into his neck.

Merlin described an oddly graceful arc as he fell back onto the floor, his clipboard clattering from his hand.

“Prick,” he muttered as his eyes rolled back in his head.

“Fuck, Harry!” Eggsy said, instinctively stepping back. He regarded Merlin’s sleeping form with mild horror.

“The secret must be preserved,” Harry said, laying the watch on Merlin’s outstretched hand.

“Are you gonna do that to me as well then?” Eggsy asked, sticking his jaw out defiantly.

“No, I need you,” Harry said, making sure Merlin’s glasses were turned off and hadn’t been recording. He glanced up at Eggsy, who was wearing a shocked and happy look. That might have been a bit more honest than he'd intended. “Besides, the darts take off the last hour or so; it’s far too late for that now.”

“Right, ‘course.”

Don’t look at me like that, Eggsy. I’ve just ruined your life.

“They’re going to blame you for this, you realise,” Harry said. “Merlin’s going to know he was hit with a dart, even if he doesn’t remember what happened. You were due to come in, your glasses record will show you arrived, although lord knows what the ghost has done to our data. And you’re just about to nick one of our aircraft.”

“Really?” Harry really felt Eggsy should have looked more worried by all of this.

“Eggsy, they’re going to think you’ve gone rogue, for whatever reason. They’re going to hunt you down as soon as they can spare an agent to do so.”

“Yeah, but it’s for a good cause, innit? And they wouldn’t do nothing to hurt Mum or Daisy, so, well, you know.” He shrugged awkwardly, “I don’t mind. If it’s you and all of that. It’s worth it.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. Right, well they didn’t have time to discuss it and Eggsy’s enthusiasm did make things easier, even if his dedication was starting to do things to Harry’s self-restraint. He didn’t know if he wanted to shake some sense into him, or—or something else.

“Right well, your faith in me is touching, and I thank you for it. I’m going to remain on four legs until we get out of here and I’ll leave it up to you to get us airborne. Pick something small, we’re not going too far.”

“Not the jet then?” Eggsy asked. “It’s got like a bar and everything but. We flew it into Valentine’s base. Like, he had an actual base; proper supervillain that, not like the wankers I’ve had to deal with since. Not that I’m complaining. Hang on, let me swing by the lockers.”

Harry kept an eye out while Eggsy collected an overnight bag and an assortment of weaponry from his locker before putting on his glasses and flirting cheekily with whoever was on the radio as he entered the hangar.

Eggsy went through the proper channels and was cleared for take-off. Harry could see in his face that he was a bit worried about Merlin waking up and interrupting them, but to hurry would be suspicious. Eggsy had picked the Jetstream 31 which despite the name was a twin turboprop rather than a jet, and while it was probably a bit bigger than strictly necessary it was quite comfortable.

Harry sank into the co-pilot's seat and looked at his watch. It was only lunchtime, even though breakfast felt like a million years ago.

“Hey Harry,” Eggsy said, as the rolling green of the British countryside fell away beneath them. “Where are we going?”


	13. Chapter 13

“Where are we going?” Eggsy asked, and he honestly didn’t care what the answer was. He’d entered some bullshit in the flight plan because it was required, but he could change it on the fly. Radio chatter in his ears, he would go wherever Harry told him to, no matter how far away.

“Geneva,” Harry said. Eggsy fed it into the on-board computer. “Gawain is there, as far as I know. He’s the one who pulled Arthur out of the sea. If anyone saw anything, it would be him.”

“What sea?” Eggsy asked.

“Nevermind, it’s a metaphor.” Normally Eggsy would have pressed him for more details, but he caught how Harry’s fingers clenched slightly and decided to let it be. Something in Harry had changed; he could sense it, but he didn’t know what. He had secrets he was obligated to keep, and Eggsy saw no profit in trying to prise them out.

“I haven’t been to Geneva yet,” Eggsy said instead. He grinned at Harry. All his life he never really expected he’d travel. The closest he’d come was his stint in the marines, and it had been cut short before he’d spent any time overseas, but now everywhere he hadn’t been was a ‘yet.’ Kingsman would send him everywhere eventually; he had faith.

But oh, the difference it made to have Harry along. Harry would know everything; from the best places to eat to where one might procure false documents, he was sure of it. He intended to learn everything he possibly could.

“I always wanted,” Eggsy began. “I mean, saving the world with you was the dream, right?”

“We're not saving the world this time,” Harry said. “We're saving Kingsman. If it's worth saving,” he added quietly. He was looking out the window, leaving the flying to Eggsy, the corners of his mouth turned sharply down. Eggsy couldn't tell if he was angry or sad, but the pleasure of their reunion had well and truly appeared to have worn off.

“Want to talk about it?” Eggsy offered, sounding stupid in his own ears. What right did he have to ask someone like Harry Hart if he wanted to talk?

Nevertheless his foreboding expression softened a little. “I don't think I could,” he said. “Thank you for the thought.”

 _I need you_. The echo of Harry’s words in his head made his heart skip a beat. Yes, he knew what Harry had really meant, but it made no difference. To be needed in any capacity was an honour. He felt weirdly invulnerable, and even as he knew it was a dangerous illusion he relished it. After long months of mourning, he felt like he’d earned it. He could be sensible later; for now he’d soar, free as a bird.

Well, somewhat.

“Will Merlin be able to take control of the plane?” Eggsy asked. “Like you did with the car?”

“No, but he will know where we are,” Harry said. “Gawain is on guard duty for one of your agents and I have no doubt Merlin will contact them, whoever they are, and try and capture you. Your job will be to keep them off me while I talk to Gawain, hopefully before Arthur gets to him. At least Arthur won’t know where we are.”

“It has to be Arthur, right?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Harry,” Eggsy said. “We’ll get him, alright? We’ll make him pay for what he did to Percival. It weren’t your fault.” Harry gave him an understanding look which told Eggsy he didn’t believe a word of it. He didn’t know what to do about Harry’s guilt. He was confident enough in his own abilities (and the look in Harry’s eye and the exasperated fondness with which he spoke to him) to be sure that Harry had long ago started seeing him as more than just making amends for his father’s death, but it didn’t seem to have shifted the guilt.

All those people in Kentucky. It seemed too long ago to talk about it, but Eggsy had wondered. Watching through Harry’s eyes it had been impossible to read what he’d been feeling when he’d staggered out, weapon-less and bloody, into the sunlight. And now Percival.

It wasn’t fair. Eggsy knew Harry was a good man, for the most part, who took pride in silently saving the world behind the scenes, and accepting no thanks or fame for it, and the universe rewarded him with betrayal and bloodied hands. He wracked his brains for something to say; they had hours before they began approach to Geneva, and this part of flying was tedious as fuck.

“Hey, do you want to hear what happened with Valentine?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Well strap yourself in, cause this story is real exciting.” Except the part about the princess, which he was definitely going to edit out.

Eggsy ended up telling him a lot more than just how they’d defeated Valentine. Somehow that story segued on to another. Harry was an attentive listener, and Eggsy wasn’t trying to boast or nothing, but he was pretty fucking good and he’d done most of the crazy shit in Harry’s honour anyway, and by the time he broke off to announce his arrival to the Geneva Tower, he’d covered most of the missions he’d been sent on so far and was starting to sound a bit hoarse.

And Harry looked pleased, even if he did gently admonish him sometimes for not having taken enough care.

Eggsy peered out the window at Lake Geneva, admiring the expanse of blue in the afternoon sun. Normally he would have come here having read the dossier and the background briefing, but it was rather novel seeing a place and having no idea what exactly he was looking at. Harry seemed quite confident he’d pass through airport security, and even though it gave Eggsy a few tense moments, they both made it through the swiftly efficient Swiss immigration control without incident. Kingsman luggage fooled every sort of scanner in the world, and Harry's umbrella went through without incident also.

Living the dream, Eggsy thought, as he and Harry strolled side-by-side, blending in effortlessly with all the other suits; Harry said a great many international organisations had headquarters here, and Eggsy listened with delight to all the different languages and accents he overheard as they made their way through the airport.

Harry excused himself and stopped at a public telephone. Eggsy noticed he fed some money in but didn’t dial any numbers.

Wizard stuff, he supposed. When he’d been a trainee, Harry had been a super-spy, and now he was a super-spy himself, Harry had graduated to super-wizard-spy in the meantime. Eggsy honestly didn’t mind chasing his shadow but if they could walk as true equals, well, maybe he’d have the balls to say something, move into Harry’s space and maybe ask him what he thought about it.

Fuck, how did blokes chat up other blokes anyway? Cause looking at Harry standing there, one arm over the top of the phone, hip slightly cocked, appearing completely at ease, Eggsy had to admit he definitely sort of wanted to chat him up. Step one would be working out if he was the sort to go for it, but Eggsy’s gaydar had been given to him by his friends, and thus so useless Roxy had rolled her eyes more than once at his obliviousness.

Harry could probably give him a lesson, if asking for one wasn’t tantamount to confessing.

Harry didn’t say anything for about two minutes and then someone apparently picked up, or something, because he bent his head to the receiver and said something before hanging up.

“Gawain is here, and he’s been keeping an eye on Ector, who's been prying into the internal financial affairs of some NGOs for reasons Gawain isn’t privy to. Unfortunately a little over an hour ago he abandoned his post and did a great deal of rushing around his contacts, causing Gawain to have a couple of heart attacks himself.”

“He’s coming for me,” Eggsy said.

“Mm.”

“Harry, there are cameras everywhere, you’ll be spotted.”

Harry smiled and tapped his glasses. “As long as I have these, I’m unrecognisable when viewed through a screen. You could wear your glasses now and stare right at me and Merlin would see,” Harry shrugged. “A stranger.”

“Neat.”

“It’s no use if I’m actually spotted in real life.”

“Mister Pickle again?” Eggsy asked.

Harry sort of sagged. “I’d rather not. Ector will know you’re here by now. We need to give him the slip before we can talk to Gawain.”

“Okay,” Eggsy looked at the crowds. “We need to get into the city. There must be some way we could take advantage of all this security shit. Important people coming and going all the time here. And they wouldn't take the train.”

“We're two. Ector will expect you to be alone,” Harry said.

“Okay, let's grab a car. The embassies and such will have those armoured ones.” They were walking towards the exits now, talking casually. Eggsy kept his eyes on the crowd; he didn't know Ector personally, and the sheer number of men in suits was unnerving him a little.

They paused, watching the drop-off zone.

“Him,” Eggsy said, watching a driver unload several suitcases from the back of the black Bentley. The car was unmarked, but the way it sat on its suspension and the thickness of the windows told Eggsy it was probably armoured. “He's dyin' for a piss. Look at the way he's chucking that stuff around.” In truth he was only placing the luggage a little more heavily and clumsily than was strictly necessary but that plus the way he held himself told Eggsy what he needed to know.

“Well spotted. Give me your bag. Looks odd to arrive without one. Without Merlin hacking the cameras I'll have to distract security the old-fashioned way while you get the car.”

Eggsy flashed him a smile and handed over his luggage before striding off, like a man heeding the call of nature.

Eggsy could practically feel the cameras on him as he made his way to the gents. He'd never really appreciated how pleasant it was to have Merlin or his minions looking out for him electronically. He was also aware that Merlin probably _was_ looking at him right now, and giving Ector directions.

Eggsy took his time with his reflection in the toilets until the driver arrived and Eggsy slipped out. It was too crowded to try and delay the driver in any way without someone noticing, which meant once he had the car they'd have at best fifteen minutes before it was reported stolen.

Eggsy wasn't exactly sure where he was going (again he missed Merlin; maybe he needed to learn to rely on him less in future) but he made sure he looked like he was. He didn't have to go far to find the car, parked in a spot of dubious legality. He had to walk through an area thickly signposted as Staff Only in several languages, but no one stopped him and he resisted the urge to wink at the security cameras.

Merlin's universal car key got him in almost as fast as the genuine key would have and Eggsy grinned to see the driver's hat on the front passenger seat. It was slightly too large, and the hat band was damp with sweat, but he set it on a jaunty angle anyway and glided up to the passenger pick-up.

Fuck I'm good.

Harry was waiting for him, speaking expansively with several airport security staff one of whom was actually holding the bag for him. Eggsy found himself grinning.

Fuck he's good.

He pulled up and got out and was treated to the sound of Harry's voice flattened out into a perfect American accent, loud and slightly nasal.

“Ah, that's the kid, I remember him from last time. You're late.”

The airport employees regarded Eggsy sternly and he looked suitably abashed. Just what had Harry told them? They even opened the car door for him, apparently in subtle snub to Eggsy himself. Which he didn't mind; it saved them precious seconds. The driver would be looking for his car any minute now.

Eggsy resisted the urge to floor it and see what the amour had done to the Bentley’s power to weight ratio and sedately pulled away, joining the traffic leaving the airport.

“What was that about?” Eggsy asked, glancing at Harry in the rear-view mirror. “What did you tell 'em?”

“They think I'm a Kennedy,” Harry said. “Can't imagine why.”

Eggsy laughed. “Easy mistake to make. Where are we goin'? They're gonna miss this car soon.”

“Take the Route de Meyrin; that'll take us right to the city.”

“The what?” Eggsy prodded the SatNav and its started speaking German. “Oh, fuck off.”

“That one, Eggsy,” Harry pointed. “The long straight one that goes exactly where we want it to and gives us a few more options than the motorway.”

“Got it.” Now he was out of the airport he could put his foot down a bit. He was passing a motorway exit when one of the merging cars swerved out of its lane. Eggsy let his instinct take over and he surged ahead to avoid a collision. When the other car sped up and clipped their back end, Eggsy realised it hadn't been an accident.

“Shit.”

“Ector,” Harry said calmly. “Seems like he had the same idea we did. His car's armoured too.”

“Now what?”

“You're a better driver than he is,” Harry said. “Prove it.”

I love this, Eggsy thought. I love this so much.


	14. Chapter 14

“Speaken zie English, please,” Eggsy demanded of the SatNav, which took no notice of him whatsoever.

Harry must have heard him, because he managed to fit in a long-suffering sigh between being thrown against the door and then pressed back into the seat as Eggsy accelerated. Gentlemen apparently didn't wear seatbelts, or Harry didn't at least.

Under Harry's direction Eggsy had abandoned the Route de Meyrin as soon as possible and plunged into Geneva's orderly streets. The Bentley had lots of power but it weighed a fucking ton, and Eggsy couldn't throw it around as much as he'd liked. Ector's car was similar however; they were evenly matched when it came to machines. Geneva's streets were orderly and that meant for a gentleman who cared not for road rules, it was easy to keep ahead of traffic. Eggsy ran red lights and threw his car into bus lanes and generally sewed chaos in his wake.

Well he tried to. Mostly it brought traffic to a halt behind him.

Which meant Ector was still on their tail; Eggsy was clearing him a path. Harry had been right; Eggsy was a better driver, and he thought he'd managed to lose Ector half a dozen times. But Ector clearly knew the city and used it to his advantage. Eggsy would have expected nothing less of a Kingsman. He disappeared for a few moments as Eggsy floored it across an intersection, a bus nearly scraping the paintwork and Eggsy was sure he'd lost him when Ector surged out of a side-street in front of them. Only Eggsy's skidding swerve averted a crash. Ector was looking to disable their car and wasn't interested in doing it gently.

“I'm surprised the police haven't interfered yet,” Eggsy said, going through a red light ahead of the cross-traffic. It bought them enough time for Eggsy to turn the Bentley down a narrow-side street, his teeth gritted as the wing-mirrors took a bit of punishment.

“I dare say Merlin is holding them off for now,” Harry said. He'd retrieved his weapons from Eggsy's bag and had redistributed them about his person. Eggsy couldn't take his hands off the wheel to do the same and was feeling rather naked without the comforting weight of his pistols against the small of his back.

“He can't do that for long, surely.”

“Indeed. Left.”

The Bentley's bulletproof tyres squealed as Eggsy did as he was told. He had no idea where they were going, but Harry was keeping one eye on the SatNav and for all Eggsy knew could understand what it was saying as well. Eggsy had been given language tapes as part of his 'professional development' but he hadn't really been in the mood to listen to them after Valentine's Day.

Harry had directed him across the river and they were now in the old part of town. A siren started up somewhere nearby. Merlin had finally run out of delaying tactics.

“Finally,” Harry said. “Take us in close, would you?”

Eggsy wanted to argue, and his instincts told him to drive _away_ from the police car, but he did as he was told, making traffic stop and swerve as he did a u-turn across the street. Harry was muttering something under his breath and as Eggsy swept past the side of the police Range-Rover, Harry opened the back window and slapped the white and green paintwork like he was patting a horse.

Eggsy was kind of hoping for an explosion, or for it to turn into a pumpkin or something, but instead the vehicle stalled and he saw Ector slam on the breaks to avoid it and while the driver worked to restart it. Eggsy grinned at Harry in the mirror but he didn't smile back.

“We need to lose this car.”

“Right. I can get us a new one. Merlin's got this universal key-”

“He finally got it working? Of course he had to wait until after I'd died.”

They had about ten seconds before Ector would be on them again, and they abandoned the Bentley in the middle of the street. Eggsy ran for a parked BMW but Harry gestured at a little red Fiat and they flung themselves in, Harry carrying Eggsy's bag. As soon as they'd rounded the next corner, Harry told him to slow down.

“Drive like you have grandchildren,” he said.

“What?”

“Slowly, Eggsy.”

“I suppose I've heard of the concept,” Eggsy said, politely indicating his next turn. “But are we really going to fool Ector?”

“No, this is to get the police off us. I will take care of Ector. I don't really know what's going to happen when I do, however. Gawain's at the Swissotel. Lose the police, and I'll meet you there as soon as I can.”

He's leaving. For a moment Eggsy felt something like panic, a wrench, a suggestion that they wouldn't meet again.

Which was fucking ridiculous and was he planning on following him into the gents when he needed to take a piss as well? So he grinned and nodded and slowed down enough for Harry to get out and duck away into the crowd, leaving Eggsy's bag on the seat beside him.

Ector had presumably rammed the Bentley out of the way, because his car was looking slightly worse for wear when he surged around the corner. Eggsy grinned. He was small and nimble now, and could concentrate better without the Kaiser telling him to turn left all the time.

Eggsy put his foot down.

He wasn't sure what happened next, but he heard a loud pop that he later decided was a tyre exploding and Ector's huge car suddenly swerved up over the gutter and onto the footpath. Halfway down the street several people gathered to wait at a bus stop and Ector was ploughing straight for them as bystanders started yelling. Eggsy thought he could see the Kingsman struggling with the wheel behind the tinted glass, but the wheels had locked up.

Eggsy didn't have time to think. The gearbox ground as he forced his car into reverse and braced himself as he flung the Fiat backwards into the ever narrowing gap between Ector's car and the civilians. The cars collided, inevitably. The back end of the Fiat just crumpled under the weight and momentum of the other car and Eggsy held his arms up over his head to protect his face as his head cracked painfully against the side window. The two cars locked together, skidded down the street and came to a halt in a cloud of steam, and tyre smoke just meters from the bus stop. Eggsy was out the other door as soon as they'd stopped moving, his hand in his bag for a gun.

Ector didn't move. Cautiously, Eggsy approached the wreck, feeling slightly sick but also suspicious. Ector was slumped over the steering wheel. Eggsy yanked the door open, hiding his gun under his jacket from the gathering crowd but not from the man in front of him.

Ector didn't move, even when Eggsy knelt on the passenger seat and pressed his fingers to his throat. Pulse. Steady. Eggsy breathed a sigh of relief. Ector had been wearing a seatbelt, and Eggsy couldn't see any major injuries but it looked like he'd hit his head at the very least. Eggsy carefully lifted his glasses off his face, aware that Merlin was looking at him through them.

He put them on.

“Ector's alive,” he said. “I can't see any blood, but he's out cold and I don't want to move him in case his neck's injured. Merlin.”

“Galahad,” Merlin said, sounding strained.

“We've got a traitor, Merlin. Someone tried to get me as well as Percival. I can't- Look, I can't tell you any more. I'm sorry. I'll come in,” he said, wondering if this was a terrible mistake. Wondering what Kingsman did to rogue agents. “When I've sorted this out. I promise. Or I'll die in the process and you won't need to worry.”

“Who was that man in the car with you?” Merlin asked.

“An informant.” Eggsy could hear sirens again. “I have to go. I know you can't trust me, but, you know, trust me.”

“I'm concerned about your mental state-”

“Yeah,” Eggsy laughed uneasily. “I don't blame you, but I'm alright. I have to sort this out. Take care, Merlin. Take care of everyone.” He put the glasses back on Ector's face before Merlin could reply, and got out.

A crowd had gathered and people tried to get him to stay, asking if he was all right in a variety of languages. He pretended he couldn't speak any of them and made vague gestures with his hands at his watch and made his escape, no one quite game to restrain him. He hoped someone had thought to call an ambulance, but the police were on their way at least. As soon as he was out of sight, he simply hailed the next taxi he saw.

“Swissotel?” he told the driver. She nodded and in excellent English asked him how he was enjoying Geneva. “Lovely so far, but I think the day's catching up to me, to be honest. I could really use a drink.”

The taxi driver gave him several recommendations for bars and restaurants, and Eggsy was obliged to pay for the ride with his Kingsman-issued visa card. Luckily Merlin hadn't cut him off, but he was probably keeping a close eye on what he was buying.

Swissotel Metropole Geneva was the sort of place that would have intimidated Eggsy into silence less than a year ago, but now he stepped confidently out of the taxi, and waved away any attempts to take his bag.

First things first.

He made his way to the gents, re-holstered his weapons, and made sure he looked none the worse for wear after his car accident.

Hotels were wonderful places. People were always coming and going and waiting and meeting people they didn't know, and all in various states of excitement or boredom or inebriation or jetlag. Eggsy could move among them almost invisibly; he felt like he was starting to belong in these sorts of places.

He went looking for Harry.

He found him in the richly appointed bar, sitting at a small table in the corner with another man in a suit Eggsy didn't recognise. When he strolled in Harry didn't so much as glance in his direction, but he reach out and adjust his umbrella, which was hooked over the edge of his chair, extending his fingers in the _Stand By_ signal.

Eggsy made for the bar, ordered a beer and asked to see a menu. He had no idea if he'd have time to eat, but it was worth a try. He was starving.

The beer was excellent. Just what he needed.

The menu was in three fucking languages. Eggsy stared at it for a while without seeing it, and then put it down, confused. Where the hell was he? Eggsy jerked his head up, his heart thumping. Christ this place looked fancy. Was that his beer? He was wearing a _suit_. Where did he get a suit from? And there was something lumpy underneath. He reached into the jacket and once he'd worked out the objects strapped to his back were guns he felt a cold rush of fear wash over him.

This had to be some fucked up dream. Some bird walked past talking on her phone in French. What the fuck is is this place. Was he overseas? _Why?_ Eggsy started to sweat, wondering if he should run. Out the window was a view of this massive ocean, or lake or something. Where was he?

What was he doing here? How much trouble would he get in if he was caught with these guns?

He felt around for his phone, and found a knife in his pocket next to it. He had a phone but it wasn't his. Wasn't the one he remembered anyway. He should call Jamal maybe. That would be a laugh; help I'm in a foreign country and I dunno how I got here. He didn't feel drunk or hungover.

Just scared.

Maybe he'd call Mum instead. Maybe he'd gone on holiday. Maybe she'd know. He found a pair of glasses in his other pocket. Just whose suit had he stolen? He didn't need glasses.

He let his gaze wander around the room, trying to appear nonchalant.

Two guys in suits were leaving their table. They looked kind of British. Maybe they'd speak English. There was something a bit odd about them, the way they both reached for the umbrella and weren't really looking or speaking at each other. The tall one pressed his lips together, and Eggsy realised he was furious.

It's just an umbrella, mate, he thought as the other man picked it up. Maybe he wouldn't talk to them after all. There was something weird about the pair.

But he couldn't take his eyes off the man either. His heart hadn't slowed down, and as the men walked closer on their way out of the bar, Eggsy realised his eyes were stinging. Something about him. Something important. He couldn't just walk up to a bloke like that, what would he say? But he was already half sliding off the bar stool, turning towards the pair of them.

Now was not the time to have some sort of crisis of sexual identity, but Eggsy realised his chest was aching. Something in him didn't want them to leave, to walk away and never look back. Maybe someone had put something in his drink. The shorter man stepped behind the taller, putting himself between them in a weirdly deliberate fashion, the umbrella clutched in his hand, as they strolled towards the exit.

Eggsy stared after them, utterly lost.


	15. Chapter 15

Eggsy put his hand to his mouth. Something was wrong. Something was badly wrong. Why couldn't he remember what he was doing here? He had to stop them before they walked out. Say something, even if it was bad manners-

Manners. The word rang like a bell in his head.

The tall bloke was looking at him over the head of his companion. His gaze was intense, like he was trying to see right into Eggsy's head.

“Manners,” Eggsy breathed.

Do something.

He stared at the half glass of beer. Something about that was familiar. Manners. He reached for the glass, maybe to have a drink. Maketh. He wrapped his fingers around it. He didn't think any further; he acted. He had to do something. Man.

So he threw half a glassful of beer at the shorter guy's face.

Something snapped in his head, like breaking rubber band. Something came loose. The tall guy sunk his fingers into the shorter guy's elbow, making his jaw sag in a grimace of pain as he deftly plucked the umbrella out of his nerveless hand.

I'm in danger, Eggsy thought, looking at his empty glass. He was going to get in so much trouble for starting a fight in a place like this.

“Harry,” he said. “Right?” The name seemed to fit him. He looked like a Harry, but much sharper than the prince.

Harry, if that's what his name actually was, said something in harried French to the barman, who'd appeared like magic when the commotion started, and Eggsy was sure security wouldn’t be far behind.

“Darling,” Harry said, stepping around his companion, who was clutching his own arm and gritting his teeth and sizing up Eggsy with a look of odd respect. Harry ignored him, or appeared to, and wrapped an arm around Eggsy's shoulders. Eggsy should have shaken him off because no posh bloke was going to get away with calling him that in public but the word ‘darling’ was like a lick of flame in his stomach and he just sort sagged against that expensive suit, his heart hammering. “You've got the wrong idea.” He was told with an affectionate, earnest look. “How much have you had to drink? We'd better go back to the room. I'm really terribly sorry about this,” he added to his companion. “I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

A crowd hadn't exactly gathered so much as sensed interesting drama and a lot of people just casually happened looking their way. Eggsy wished the lovely carpet beneath his feet would open up and swallow him. He felt like something was happening inside his head, like a dam was threatening to burst. Or a blood vessel. But at the same time he knew he was safe at maybe-Harry’s side, he could trust him, even if he couldn’t remember why; he could feel it in his bones.

Harry gripped his arm and Eggsy managed to get the glass back on the bar before he was pulled stumbling in the older man's wake. Drunk, right he was supposed to be drunk. He had the presence of mind to stoop and grab the overnight bag next to the stool; it was probably his.

Harry swiftly pulled him into the nearest lift, and no one tried to follow, titters and shocked conversation in their wake. Eggsy realised Harry had guns on under his suit as well. Are we on the same side, he wondered. He hoped so. He sort of liked the way Harry seemed to know what he was doing. And the way he smelled. Very familiar. Reassuring.

As soon as the doors closed the act, and Harry's arm, dropped.

“Eggsy?” he stood in front of him, staring into his eyes.

“I know you,” Eggsy said. He could feel the walls in his mind beginning to crack. Manners. Maketh. Man. Oh God. Eggsy put his hands up to his temples as a year of blood and fear and laughter and loss was returned to him in a moment that left him teary and gasping.

“Eggsy!” Harry was looking at him with concern, his hands slightly raised like he wanted to do something but wasn’t sure what. “Are you all right? Can you remember?”

“Harry. Fuck. Yes, yes I can. What happened?”

“Oh thank goodness,” Harry muttered, closing his eyes for a moment. “Magic, Eggsy. He stalled me until you showed up and said he took the last year off your life and said if I went quietly he'd let you have it back.”

“And you just agreed?” Eggsy asked, taking a deep breath as everything in his head started to settle back into place. The lift slowed and the doors opened. There were people waiting on the other side, so they stepped out into an otherwise deserted corridor, silent until the doors had closed and they were alone again.

“Eggsy, without your training you're defenceless. Gawain had no intention of harming you, but Chester does.” He glanced at him. “Chester has spread the news that I’ve prematurely recruited you, as it were, and I’m to report to him for disciplinary action.”

“Maybe you should go,” Eggsy said, feeling tired and like his head had been shaken like a snow globe. Bits and pieces of his memories were still fluttering through his consciousness. “Make your case.”

Harry set his jaw, and Eggsy had seen Harry this angry once before. “He tried to kill you twice, Eggsy, and he knows I know. He won’t be fooled by any attempts on my part to play nice.” He took a deep breath. “What happened to Ector? Is he all right?”

“His car sort of popped,” Eggsy said. “And he lost control. In a busy street like that I had to stop him before someone died. I managed it before he took out any pedestrians but I trashed the Fiat. Caught a taxi here.”

Harry winced and bowed his head, but didn't slow down as they headed for the fire escape.

“He was out cold, but I didn't see any bad injuries.” Eggsy watched Harry closely. “Did you do that?”

Harry’s lips thinned. “Of course I did. I didn't intend for it to be so dramatic, I just wanted to make sure you got away.” He looked at his hand, and Eggsy realised the cut on his thumb had been recently reopened. “We give some of ourselves to our magic. Breath, spit, blood. Kingsman are blood sacrifices, so our blood is powerful. I'm still learning how much, clearly. Thank you for making sure I didn’t kill anyone.”

Harry drew breath to say more, and then decided against it. Instead he set his jaw and they found the fire escape and ducked into it.

Eggsy was worried. Something about Harry seemed very brittle; the set of his shoulders tense and his movements lacking their usual fluidity. He really must feel bad about the accident. Now everything was settling back into place, what remained at the forefront of Eggsy’s mind was the world darling in Harry’s mouth, and his arm around his shoulders. Which was slightly mortifying, given all the other things they had to worry about.

“Shit.” A door banged somewhere below them and Harry halted.

“Galahad!” someone called from below. Swiftly they pushed open the nearest door and exited onto a floor identical to the one they'd just left. Eggsy held the door so it closed silently behind them.

“He's busted the lifts,” Harry said as they stalked past. Eggsy could hear muffled shouting from the lift well. “They'll start moving once the spell wears off.”

They found another set of stairs, and they'd gone down half a flight when they saw Gawain stalking up towards them again. Eggsy was going to ask how Gawain was on two sets of stairs at once and then thought better of it. Just go with it. Just go with everything. They went up.

The Swissotel was only four or five floors, Eggsy realised, and he was barely out of breath when they ran out of room. They found themselves on a rooftop terrace, the last of the lunchtime crowd enjoying the fine weather made Eggsy's stomach growl as he remembered he hadn't had more than half a glass of beer since breakfast. The food here looked and smelled fantastic and it took all his self control not to steal someone’s plate.

He went to the edge, to look for a way down, eyeing the drop to the balcony a floor below. They had an impressive view of Lake Geneva from up here, a fountain like a whale's spout flinging a plume of water high into the air some distance away. Eggsy had never seen anything like it; it was hard to believe a body of water this big wasn't the ocean.

“It's so blue,” Harry muttered. He was staring out at the lake, and Eggsy could see his fists were clenched so hard the knuckles were white. He looked so much older, the lines on his face deepening.

“Harry?” Eggsy asked warily. “We gotta go. Could you make that jump?”

They both went for their guns as a woman shrieked and knocked her chair over as she stood up to flee.

“They're everywhere!” Suddenly the entire terrace was pandemonium as the guests leaped to their feet and fled, grabbing bags and tripping over themselves. They ignored the lifts and made for the stairs, the staff valiantly trying to help them and shouting for an exterminator.

One man walked against the tide, in a damp suit that smelled of expensive beer.

“Imaginary rats,” he said. “I feel bad for having to tarnish the reputation of such a lovely hotel. I was only meant to fetch Galahad, but it seems I’m obliged to take you both in and I'd rather do it quietly.”

“You're signing my death warrant, mate,” Eggsy said. “Harry, what do we do?”

“I don't know.”

“What?”

Harry was staring at Gawain, his hands by his sides, shoulders tensed as if for a blow. “I can't beat him, Eggsy. And if I try-” Eggsy had never seen that look on Harry's face before. He didn't understand it.

“No, you can't. We discussed this earlier,” Gawain said.

“Fuck you,” Eggsy said, and drew his gun.

Gawain didn't flinch. “You didn't kill the dog, Eggsy.”

Eggsy pulled the trigger. He'd aimed at Gawain's stomach; knowing his suit would save him, but it would still hurt like hell and leave him breathless and badly bruised. He'd taken enough bullets there himself to know how incapacitating it was.

Gawain shattered, like pane of glass. When his arm wrapped around Eggsy's neck, Eggsy understood why Harry had said he couldn't beat him. He'd just appeared behind him, his hip angled against Eggsy’s back and he wrenched Eggsy's gun hand back, pressing the tendons in his wrist and forcing him to drop the weapon. Eggsy went still, knowing Gawain could kill him as fast or as slowly as he liked in this position.

“You go ahead, Galahad.” Gawain said. “I'm right behind you. I won't hurt him, don't worry.” He sounded exasperated. “We are on the same side, after all. You're not the first agent to go a little off the rails after being pulled from the sea,” he added. “It will be fine.”

He sounded like he meant it, which made Eggsy feel a bit bad about what he was going to do next. Because one thing he wasn't afraid of right then was dying. Bye Mum, bye Roxy; don't want to see you again too soon, he thought. Look after Daisy and JB.

Harry, on the other hand, seemed to have given up, and it  _ hurt _ to see him so defeated. Eggsy tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn't meet it. Eggsy sagged, as if equally broken, but what he wanted was to get his feet under himself, bend his knees a bit. Gawain kept warning pressure on his windpipe, but he could still breathe unobstructed, and he filled his lungs before he braced himself and flung both himself and Gawain backwards. He took the other agent's weight as he bent forward, grabbing a fistful of his suit and lifting him off his feet. As soon as he had even the slightest bit of control, Eggsy straightened his legs and flung them backwards, up and over the glass partition and into space. Gawain's arm tightened around his neck instinctively and Eggsy tensed his muscles.

“Eggsy!” Harry was turning.

See you on the other side, Eggsy thought. He hoped. He couldn't fall properly, tangled in Gawain but he was going to try and land head-first anyway. Five floors should be enough; the last thing he wanted was to survive too injured to help. Harry would have to kill him.

The bevelled edge of the low glass wall ground into Eggsy's lower back as he tipped them over, Gawain trying to pull himself free. Like hell. I'm taking you with me, Eggsy thought, twisting to get a better grip.

He tried not to look at the drop below him.

And then Gawain shattered in his arms and Eggsy fell alone.

Fuck. As last thoughts went, it wasn't very profound.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry knew he'd failed him, and he didn't deserve to have his arm practically wrenched out of his socket as Eggsy grabbed the handle of his umbrella. He deserved empty air and the deep blue sea. It hurt like hell and Harry thought viciously that he deserved no less, the glass partition digging into his ribs as he braced himself and took Eggsy’s weight. He held Eggsy by one arm, somehow, his other extended as he fired his gun into a couple of Gawain's reflections, as they popped up and disappeared like targets on a shooting range. He must have had fewer images than Harry had bullets because he gave up after two.

Harry was back. And he was furious; mostly with himself.

“Don't press the button!” Harry said as he felt Eggsy's weight shift at the other end of the umbrella.

“I know, I know! I've got a rainmaker myself.” Eggsy didn't waste any time hauling himself back up and hooking an arm over the glass wall before vaulting back onto the roof, much to Harry's relief. Lucky he didn’t dislocate his shoulder, he thought. Lucky about a lot of things.

“Where is he?” Eggsy asked, scooping up the pistol he'd dropped with one hand and grabbing his bag with the other.

“Considering his next move, probably.” They stood backs to the edge, so Gawain couldn’t materialise behind them. “What the fuck did you think you were doing throwing yourself over the edge like that?” Harry snapped, the sight of Eggsy plummeting into space was still burned into his mind's eye.

“You weren't doing nothing!” Eggsy fired back. “I woulda been a wizard anyway.”

“Yes, if you weren't devoured by whatever got Percival, but even if you weren't, we are both Galahad,” Harry said. “There can only be one. When your ritual begins, mine ends. I go back to the sea.” He could see it sink in, Eggsy's face going slack in horror as he realised how close he came to killing him permanently. “It's fine, you didn't know,” he said, before Eggsy could apologise. “It's my fault anyway.”

He'd frozen up. _Given_ up. Because he was fucking scared; he hadn't felt such terror in decades, a bone deep fear that overrode all higher levels of thought, the kind of fear that keeps rabbits frozen in headlights. He hadn't felt it for a long, long time; agents who succumbed to it didn't last long, after all.

Christ. Eggsy deserved better than this.

He concentrated, sensing new magic and fresh blood. “I think he's making a new ritual, we have to go before he can complete it, whatever it is.”

“I can reach that balcony easy,” Eggsy said.

“It might not be far enough away.” Harry hooked his umbrella over his arm and reached for his notebook instead, flicking through it one-handed. He was a wizard; time to act like one. Eggsy had proven willing to die for him; try and earn that, he berated himself.

He knew what page he was looking for.

“Eggsy, have you seen Howl's Moving Castle?” he asked.

“What, is that another of your romance flicks?”

And just what was _that_ supposed to mean? “It's an animated film, but yes, technically. It's about a hatter and a wizard.”

Eggsy was just looking at him, a faintly disbelieving expression on his face.

“Right, you haven't seen it. Nevermind.” He scanned the words and put the notebook away. “You'll need your hands free,” he said as he dragged a chair into place. He hadn't actually tried this one himself yet. Still, if it didn’t work, Eggsy might survive and he wouldn’t, which seemed fair enough.

Eggsy's eyes went wide when Harry took his hand, and put his other on his waist. Harry could see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously.

“Follow my lead,” Harry said. He pulled the magic together as Eggsy threaded his arm through the handles on his bag and rested the hand on Harry's shoulder. He couldn't afford to be distracted, and he looked at his feet rather than at Eggsy’s face.

Concentrate, or we'll both die, he thought. He could feel Gawain in the stairwell, working his own magic. There was no time left.

“And go.”

Step. Eggsy kept perfect time as they stepped up on to the chair.

Step. On to the table, sending a glass tumbling off and smashing onto the floor. Harry could see the lake out of the corner of his eye, deep and blue and he would _not_ think of it.

Step. Their shoes hit the glass edge of the parapet as one. Eggsy made a small noise in the back of his throat, but he didn’t waver.

Step.

Empty air.

Eggsy trembled in his arms, his breath rushing from his lungs in terror but he did not let go, his eyes fixed on Harry's face rather than the drop, and Harry didn't think anyone other than Mister Pickle had ever held such faith in him. He didn't know where to put it, what to do with it, this terrible affection Eggsy held for him. He squeezed Eggsy’s hand reassuringly, and it wasn’t the last thing he did.

They didn't fall.

The universe gave a little under their feet, but sprung back, like walking on a mattress. Further out into space they walked, or waltzed, something somewhere between the two.

“You can fly,” Eggsy breathed, and Harry finally let himself look away from their feet and into his eyes.

“We're walking, really. Let’s pick up the pace.”

“Yeah but, whatever. It’s amazing, Harry.”

Harry wished Eggsy wasn’t prepared to forgive him so easily.

“Can people see us?”

“Yes, so let’s get out of sight as soon as possible. When we touch ground, we run. Get us a car.”

“Do you often stroll around like this?” Eggsy asked.

“I’ve never done it before in my life.”

“Fuck,” Eggsy said softly.

They hit the ground running. The people around them seemed sort of startled but disbelieving, trying and failing to take photographs with their phones. Interference, Harry thought with satisfaction. No one accused them of witchcraft anyway.

Harry was focused now. He opened the wound on his thumb and swiped it across the side of a moving car. It probably wouldn’t fool Gawain for long, but everything helped.

Eggsy got them a car, and Harry told him to cross the river. As soon as they’d done so they abandoned the car and Harry got out his chalk.

He drew misdirecting signs, copied from his notebook, and had them both step over them. Anticlockwise he wound them in loops around Geneva’s streets, feeling a fresh rush of fear every time he saw a dog. Luckily, they never saw the same one twice.

Harry was obliged to buy more chalk, and they ate sandwiches and coffee on the move, both ravenous.

“Did you get anything out of Gawain in the end?” Eggsy asked, as they disposed of their sandwich wrappers.

“Yes. When he pulled Chester out of the sea.” Harry could see Eggsy's eyes narrow when he mentioned it, but thankfully he didn't interrupt. “Chester wasn’t surprised. He was relieved; said he could never get it to work, so he wasn’t sure if he believed it.”

“He knew about magic?” Eggsy asked.

“Mm. It seems Arthur is privy to the secret, even if he is not given any proof of its veracity. You lot were off dealing with Valentine, so when Chester requested he go back to HQ one last time, Gawain didn’t deny him. He said he needed to leave a warning for his successor.”

“But instead he nicked everything.”

“Gawain didn’t see that bit. That room is Arthur's eyes only. He said he was only in there a moment; long enough to write a note. Or cast a spell,” Harry added.

“If what was in that room was magic stuff, then Arthur’s already studied it.”

“None of it would have worked for him, not until he died. But the books would have told him that. Fuck, no wonder he was so calm. I thought he was just bluffing. He never liked showing weakness, or being wrong.”

“Harry,” Eggsy said, as Harry stooped to put more chalk on the street. “What’s this about you dying if I die?”

“We’re not immortal. We’re just granted an extension. We don’t age any more, although I haven’t been dead long enough to notice one way or the other. Instead we are replaced by our successors, and the sea claims us.”

Don’t ask about the sea, don’t ask, please.

Eggsy didn’t.

“So if I hadn’t shot JB. You woulda lived until whoever replaced _me_ died, right?”

“Yes.”

“So why the hell didn’t you? That's like decades extra.”

Harry stood up and stepped smartly across the chalk pattern. Eggsy followed and they strode away. “It wouldn’t be right to deny you. Besides, are you planning on dying soon?”

Eggsy was silent for a little while. Harry’s legs were starting to ache. He couldn’t guess how many miles they’d covered.

“I coulda been a bit more careful,” Eggsy said eventually.

“Now you know better.”

“So if you don’t have a successor, you’re immortal.”

“Well, potentially.”

They stopped and stared at each other, each coming to the same conclusion.

“They haven’t picked a new Arthur yet, have they?” Harry asked.

Eggsy shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning down. “Percival was the favourite. Shit.”

“Destroy the Kingsmen and live forever. Not a bad deal if you’ve already betrayed them once.”

“Merlin could be next. I gotta warn him, Harry.”

“He’s not going to listen to you.”

“Roxy then. Please?”

Harry shrugged. “If it helps, it helps.”

While Eggsy got out his phone, Harry looked at the sky. He felt they’d probably lost all pursuit, but Gawain would still be looking for them. They’d run successfully and it was now time to hide. All it took was for Gawain to get lucky and all their hard work and chalk would be for naught.

Eggsy spoke swiftly, not letting Roxy get a word in as he delivered his warning.

“Roxy, just, don’t let him go anywhere alone. And if someone picks a fight with him, even if you think you can take them, run. Please. Please Roxy. I can’t say. I’m sorry. You be careful too.”

He hung up. Harry glanced at his watch. “They probably traced you as far as Geneva, but they already knew you were here.”

“We gotta stop him, Harry.”

“We need to get off the streets first.” Eggsy didn’t look like he’d been sleeping well lately, and Harry felt about ready to drop himself. Magic was exhausting and he'd done more today than he had in his entire life.

He found a small pension and spun the lady who ran it a story about complicated family troubles and got them a room. It was small and clean, with two single beds and cheerful floral wallpaper. The furniture had more frills on it than was quite to Harry’s taste, but he collapsed in one of the overstuffed armchairs gratefully and closed his eyes.

Eggsy slumped on the end of one of the beds.

“Does this place have room service?”

“Dinner starts at six,” Harry said. “I’m your uncle, by the way, and we’re pursuing your sister who’s eloped with someone unsuitable. Which explains why we were in such a hurry you didn’t bring a bag.”

“But I did though. You’re the one who forgot.”

“It made more sense if it was mine. You’re hot-headed and impulsive.”

“Whatever you say, Uncle Harry.” Eggsy flopped back on the bed. “I’m fucking knackered. You’re hard to keep up with already and here I am, only getting older.”

Harry let himself smile at that, and when he cracked open an eye, Eggsy was looking at him, hopefully and with concern too.

“You’ll cope,” Harry said. He didn’t want Eggsy looking at him, and rather reluctantly he got up and explored the little balcony that overlooked the street. They’d recrossed the river at some point, and were in the old town, rows of solid, well-kept townhouses, bracketing neat, curving streets.

The balcony was tiny, barely room to stand, and the only decoration was an ashtray and a pot that had long since lost its plant.

Harry rested his forearms on the stone coping and sagged. To his relief he heard Eggsy turn on the television in the room behind him, and he hoped it would occupy him until dinner. Today had spun out of control from the start. It felt like months ago he was battling the flames of Percival’s burning house.

Maybe he wasn’t getting older, but he felt too old already. Worn thin. His thumb stung slightly. The air was cold and he wasn’t wearing an overcoat (yet another thing he’d left behind in England) but he didn’t feel like going in. He couldn’t see the lake, but he was never very far from the sea.

He wanted to eat dirt. He’d been tempted to grab a handful when he’d stopped to draw with chalk, but it had felt thin and lifeless under his fingers. It was English soil he craved. He’d have to do without. He needed to stop dwelling on his own (many) failures of the day and think.

Harry heard the television click off and saw the light click on behind him. A few moments later the door to the balcony creaked open, and Eggsy knocked on it softly.


	17. Chapter 17

Harry turned his head to look at him. Kingsman may or may not be worth saving, he thought as he watched the light from the room behind him outline Eggsy’s cheekbone, but Eggsy was. He’d do anything to keep this brilliant boy safe.

“Hey,” Eggsy said softly.

“Hello,” Harry said, looking down at the street again. The streetlights had come on, but there weren’t many pedestrians, or much traffic. He’d deliberately picked a place that was tucked out of the way. “Now you’ve seen my feet of clay.” He hated that Eggsy had seen him like that. A good learning opportunity perhaps, but a great blow to his pride as well. Eggsy was _so_ proud of him, and he’d gotten used to that. Maybe too used to it.

Eggsy took this as an invitation and he squeezed out onto the balcony as well, copying Harry’s posture and looked up and down the street.

“It’s alright,” he said. “Everyone’s got ‘em. And you came good in the end.”

“After you volunteered to die for me.”

Eggsy shrugged. “If that’s what it takes.”

It wasn’t the answer Harry was looking for.

“I’m sorry, Eggsy.”

“I’m not.”

Harry looked at him in surprise, but Eggsy was watching the street, “I don’t think any less of you or nothing.” He smiled, a little strange, a little sad. “When you died, I felt like I’d hardly got to know you, you know? And in one day extra, well, now I do. A bit more.” He lifted his head and looked at him, and Harry found himself staring into his eyes.

It was the answer Harry was looking for.

A bell rang from some unseen nearby church and they looked away.

“Dinnertime!” Eggsy beamed, bouncing upright. Harry wasn’t sure, but he thought he looked a bit relieved, like he’d gotten out of something. “Come on, Uncle Harry.” He darted back inside and Harry followed.

The pension was hardly full, but they were not the only guests, and they shared the dining table with a distracted student who seemed disappointed they didn’t speak Ukrainian and a middle-aged couple who were unfortunately both very curious and English, and Harry was obliged to spin out their cover story further while Eggsy put his head down and ate. The food was hardly exciting; fairly simple and cheap French fare, but that didn’t matter to either of them.

They ate with quiet concentration in the way of people who were not only very hungry but who also expected to be hungry again very soon. Harry said he thought the wine was rather good. Eggsy said he wished he had a beer instead. Harry could tell he was baiting him, just waiting for a lecture on what drinks to pair with which food, but Harry was too tired to indulge him.

He thought maybe he’d sleep through tonight.

By the time the lady of the house was serving coffee in the sitting room (the English couple declined, said it would keep them up all night, and finally took their leave) Harry was starting to feel human again. As human as he got, anyway.

Eggsy dragged his chair in closer and lowered his voice.

“Are we safe here?”

“I think so. I’ll ward the windows in case, but he’s got no way of tracking us.”

“That’s a relief.” Eggsy didn’t ask what they were doing tomorrow and Harry was grateful because he had no idea.

When they retired to their room, Harry found himself the recipient of an oddly expectant look from Eggsy.

“What?”

“Are you gonna like, magic up a toothbrush or something? I wanna watch.”

“Even if I knew how, the thought of doing more magic today makes me feel ill,” Harry said.

Instantly Eggsy’s smile vanished as Harry took out his chalk and started drawing on the door to the balcony.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t think to bring a bag. I didn’t exactly plan this trip.”

Eggsy sighed and opened his bag. “Do you want to borrow my pyjamas?”

“What?”

“Well, I don’t really like ‘em. They’re a bit much, you know? Rather just sleep in me pants.”

Harry considered making a joke, or asking if he was serious, but in the end he merely thanked him.

“What’s mine is yours and all that,” Eggsy said happily. He commandeered the bathroom while Harry finished drawing his circles and Harry politely didn’t pay attention when he got into bed.

Eggsy didn’t go to sleep, however.

The bathroom mirror told Harry what he already knew; he looked utterly ridiculous in Eggsy's pyjamas. His bare wrists and ankles stuck out and it was tight across his shoulders and chest. He hadn't worn anything so ill-fitting in _years_.

He could feel Eggsy watching him when he emerged, trying not to tug at his cuffs. He hung his suit up next to Eggsy’s in the otherwise empty closet and tried not to think about how oddly satisfying it was to see them like that, side by side. Eventually Eggsy couldn’t take it any more and Harry could hear him trying to stifle his laughter in the pillow.

He sighed and walked to the centre of the room and spread his arms.

“Happy? I’m not convinced you didn’t do this deliberately.”

“You look great, Harry,” Eggsy said, his eyes gleaming with amusement. When this didn't cheer him up any, Eggsy added. “I'd look just as silly in yours.”

Harry thought about how Eggsy would look in his own pyjamas, cuffs flowing over his hands, collarbone bared, and he couldn't bring himself to agree. He frowned and wished him goodnight instead.

And although they were clean something of Eggsy remained about the pyjamas and, although he wouldn’t have admitted it under torture, he was comforted as he settled down to sleep.

He dreamed of the deep blue sea. Which is, he dreamt of death. There was nothing more to it, no explanation, no hope of escape, he himself was nothing as if he’d never been. The experience of being un-made had branded itself across his soul.

He dreamed, helplessly, until he awoke.

Always first the rush of relief that he had a pulse, that he could feel it hammering in his chest, his survival instincts pushing it into overdrive. Then remembering everything, all over again, and breathing deep trying to calm his racing heart. They’d closed the curtains, but Harry could see a strip of light on the ceiling where they didn’t quite meet and he stared at it his mind transforming it into a solid beam that he could wrap his hands around, pull himself up.

He could hear Eggsy breathing, shifting in his bed just a few feet away. He didn’t sound like he was sleeping easily either.

Harry lifted his watch off the bedside table and squinted at it. Early rather than late. Well, that was something; he didn’t think he’d get back to sleep. He hadn’t managed to have a lie-in since he’d died, and it seemed a minor thing to get hung up on, but what’s the point in taking a day off if you couldn’t stay in bed until ten and in pyjamas until noon?

He sat up and swung his feet out from under the covers, and padded over to the armchair. Lying around in bed when one couldn’t sleep was torture; easier to admit defeat right from the start. Besides, he had to do some thinking.

He didn’t end up thinking so much as listening to Eggsy toss and turn and mumble, and then he suddenly went still and quiet, and Harry wasn’t entirely surprised to hear him speak, “Harry?”

“I’m here,” he said.

“I wasn’t sure what was the dream and what was real.” Harry could hear the relief in his tone. “What time is it?”

“Early, go back to sleep.”

Eggsy sat up, just a dark shape moving in the gloom. “Why are you up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“What happened?”

Harry found himself answering, far more completely than he would have if it hadn't been so utterly quiet and dark, and if it didn't feel like they were so alone. “I died, Eggsy, and now I know what that means I don't want to die again. I mean, I never wanted to die, but I faced the possibility every day, without flinching. I was so ignorant of what I was risking. I froze up today and nearly killed you because I was scared to die.”

He didn't look over at Eggsy, but he could hear him sigh, and the soft rustle of cloth as he shifted the blankets around.

“What's the sea?” he asked quietly.

Harry had been waiting for it. He knew the moment he mentioned it Eggsy would ask about it sooner or later. He was a spy, after all, and noticing things was part of what he did.

“It's death,” Harry said. “We stick these short, simple words to it so we can talk about it, but doesn't really diminish or explain it. The deep blue sea. We don't go anywhere when we die; the sea is already everywhere.”

“What was it like?”

Harry shook his head, although he doubted Eggsy could see it. “It wasn't like anything. It was non-existence. It was only once I came back that I understood that I had been in the sea. And it's in here now.” He pressed his hand to his chest. “Sometimes I hear my own heartbeat and it sounds like waves.”

Eggsy didn't say anything. Harry didn't blame him.

“I'm told it gets easier,” he continued. “I'll get desensitised to magic and the sea will seem more distant.”

“Good.”

“I think I might hate magic a bit,” Harry said. “It's like radiation.”

“Radiation?”

“When I was growing up,” Harry began. “We thought the world was going to end in our lifetime. Perhaps even before we left school. The Cold War had gone on for so long, and it seemed like it would last forever. I remember learning about it in school and it terrified and enraged me that men in bunkers could see the end of everything. The injustice of it all. Radiation was terrifying; you couldn't see it, you might not find out you were sick until months or years later. The bombs are still there but you're so lucky you grew up without the fear that they could be used at any time.”

“Magic is like that. It's understanding that the world is full of invisible power wielded by individuals who are not accountable to anyone. And that includes the Kingsmen. Arguably we are a force for good, but it feels like a weak argument right now.”

“You won't abuse it though,” Eggsy said.

“Part of the reason I became a Kingsman,” Harry said. “Besides being a thrill-seeking little wretch who didn't know lucky he was to be born with a silver spoon up his arse, was because I wanted to save the world. Save those numberless millions I dreamt about dying in nuclear fires when I was at boarding school.”

“And you did,” Eggsy said.

Harry smiled, “I tried.”

“I don't think it's so bad,” Eggsy said. “Magic and all. You can fly. That was pretty amazing. And it brought you _back_ , Harry. It's worth it, just for that.” Eggsy's voice was still blurry with sleep but Harry could hear the emotion in it.

Harry took a deep breath. “Yes, it is. You're right about that.” He stood up. “I think I might try to get some more sleep.”

They settled down in companionable silence, and Harry didn't really get back to sleep, but he dozed until the sun came up and Eggsy got up and Harry cracked an eye open a sliver to watch him pad into the bathroom. It almost felt like a lie-in.

They were the only guests awake when they had breakfast in the dining room and Harry spoke quietly but freely.

“I have an idea. I wouldn't call it a plan. I can't protect you, Eggsy. I can barely protect myself, but I think someone does owe me a favour.” He took out his notebook and wrote down an address. “I'm going to go back to England. I need my spellbook. You are going here, to seek asylum.” He tore out the page and handed it over.

“New York?” Eggsy asked, as he read the address.

“You'll have to catch a commercial flight. I can't imagine the Kingsman's Jetstream is still waiting for us. I'm not saying you should trust Ms Vico exactly, but I think she's a reasonable person and dangerous enough to give Chester pause about going after you.”

“Then what?” Eggsy asked.

“I'll meet you there and we can work out what we do next. If Ms Vico helps us, that will be even better.”

“You better show up, Harry,” Eggsy said, his forehead wrinkling as he frowned.

“I will endeavour not to disappoint. In the meantime, try and get on Ms Vico's good side. I have a feeling she'll like you.”

“Why's that?” Eggsy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You're very likeable,” Harry misdirected and it worked because Eggsy's cheeks tinted and he didn't have an answer.


	18. Chapter 18

Eggsy was obliged to use his visa card again to get to New York. He decided it didn’t matter either way; Merlin surely had all his Kingsman-issued identities flagged so he wouldn't be able to fly without being tracked anyway. He saw Merlin everywhere; behind every camera, every sensor, and it made him feel oddly lonely that these electronic eyes were no longer friendly. The system had become the enemy. He hoped Roxy had taken his warning to heart.

Harry hadn’t gone with him to the airport. He’d said something about using a network and had bid Eggsy farewell outside a hairdressers that looked so disreputable Eggsy wouldn’t have trusted them to clip a hedge, let alone cut someone’s hair.

Presumably Harry knew what he was doing.

Eggsy had drifted back to sleep after his conversation with Harry, but it had taken a little while. He didn’t know what he should have done. He wanted to wrap his arms around him, tell his beautiful, beastly mentor that his flaws were not fatal. He wanted to be enough. All he offered, in the end, were words, but they seemed to help.

It had only been a day, but so much had shifted between them, as Eggsy glanced down at Lake Geneva growing smaller and smaller out the window, he dared to think that things would shift further, maybe. Stay safe, Harry, he thought, above all else.

He still caught himself mourning sometimes, and the rush of joy when he remembered he no longer had to was growing fainter with overuse, but it was still there.

New York didn’t welcome him with anything more than the studied indifference she offered all visitors. He wasn’t waylaid by any Kingsman of either faction, and he clambered into a cab without more than a perfunctory glance at the overcast evening sky and gave the address Harry had written in his elegant scrawl.

He made nothing of the building he was dropped outside of, and very little of the anonymous foyer he walked into. There was a man about his own age sitting behind the desk and he regarded Eggsy coolly, giving him the impression he was sizing him up somehow.

“Good evening,” Eggsy said, setting his bag down on the counter. “I’m to tell you that Harry Hart sent me, and that he apologises for disturbing your boss.”

The receptionist, no name tag in evidence, picked up his phone.

“Harry Hart has sent you something. Yes. I will.”

“Ms Vico is out right now,” he said. “But you’re welcome to go to the top floor and wait.”

“Thank you,” Eggsy said, feeling a bit like a hooker reluctantly let into a posh hotel.

The apartment on the top floor was surprisingly welcoming, almost cosy despite the size and Eggsy wandered around, looking but not touching. No photographs of anything personal, but there were signs of habitation; a tablet on the kitchen bench, a paperback on one of the couches, and a lady’s coat draped over a chair. There were also two men’s hats sitting on a hat stand near the lift that didn’t seem to be an art installation but gave Eggsy the same sort of incongruous feeling.

He was examining the herb garden near the kitchen area when he recoiled, spotting a snake curled up in one of the pots, nestled next to a chilli bush. Merlin would have had it identified in seconds but without his help Eggsy merely backed away, mindful of disturbing it.

The large windows offered a stunning view of the city lights, and Eggsy did little more than stare at it for twenty minutes before he heard the lift doors open.

The woman who entered was beautiful. She had to be at least Harry’s age, but she carried herself with an airy grace that was only partly bestowed upon her by the heels she wore. Her hair was piled up on top of her head and when she shrugged off the long, fur-trimmed coat she wore, she revealed the sort of dress Eggsy expected to encounter in clubs, draped across women half her age. She wore it flawlessly.

“I’m not entirely surprised to hear from Mister Hart, but you,” she said, folding her coat over her arm and giving him a once-over. “Are not what I expected. I mean that in the nicest possible way, of course.” She strolled over and held out her hand, leaving it ambiguous as to what she expected Eggsy to do with it. He shook it, and bowed his head slightly. “Call me Letizia,” she said.

“Eggsy. Eggsy Unwin.”

She smiled widely, and it lit up her eyes. “What a charming name. Make yourself at home, Eggsy.” She strolled out of the room, tugging off her shoes as she did so. Eggsy tried and failed not to follow her legs with his eyes as he took a seat on the couch. She returned moments later, barefoot and shaking her hair out of its messy bun.

“Why aren’t you surprised to hear from Harry?” Eggsy asked, feeling slightly uncharitable. Okay so Harry regarded him fondly, but Eggsy hadn’t been prepared for this sort of competition for his attention.

“You don’t think your little internecine spat has gone unnoticed do you? Not after throwing that sort of magic around downtown Geneva. Everyone knows Kingsman is having some sort of internal fight. So far no one’s interfered, as far as I know. We’re all waiting to see what it’s about and who’s left standing.”

“You know about the Kingsmen?”

Letizia regarded him with a faint smile, cocking her head to the side. “You’re not a wizard yet, are you? Oh, Mister Hart has been bad, letting the civilians in on the joke.” She seemed to find it more amusing than something to be genuinely worried about. “Yes, I know about Kingsman; our world is quite small, and everyone is always in everyone else's business. Would you like a drink?”

“Thank you.”

“Someone’s coming for you, you know,” she said, opening the fridge and taking out a bottle of mineral water. “Don’t worry, you’re safe here. I just thought you should be aware.”

“Who are you exactly?” Eggsy asked.

“I could ask you the same question,” she said, walking over and handing him a glass. “I run this town, on a metaphysical level.” She sat down on the sofa, a polite distance between them, and crossed her legs. “Your turn.”

“I’m not anyone.”

“You must be, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Arthur, that is, our-”

“Your king. I know who he is.”

“He’s trying to kill me.” He took a deep breath. “He’s- he’s killing other Kingsman so he doesn’t have a successor, we think. So he can live forever.”

“Well,” she said, sipping her water. “What a fascinating piece of information. Well worth whatever trouble is slinking in your wake. Such ambition, such determination. I’m legitimately impressed with your new king. Quite a monarch in the making.”

Eggsy knew how to master himself and he didn’t snap back, taking a breath and forcing it slowly out of his nose rather than getting angry.

“ _That’s_ your opinion?”

“Part of it. I never said I approve, or that I particularly want England to have such a monarch, but credit where it’s due, such decisive acts, such ruthlessness, are what the greatest of magicians are made of.” She admired the bubbles in her drink. “And Mister Hart intends to assassinate his king.”

“We don’t have any choice.”

“Of course you do. You just won’t take it, because Kingsmen are a bit better than the rest of us.”

Eggsy looked at her in surprise.

She smiled. “To do magic is to inflict a violence upon the universe. It’s not inherently corrupting, but it does blunt your soul, in a way. We are rarely good people,” she said softly. “But Kingsmen, who die in selfless service, the magic is forced upon without consent or warning, and they see it as a burden and a duty, rather than a birthright. If your king succeeds, I shall be sorry to see them go.”

“We’ll stop him,” Eggsy said.

“Maybe.” She set her glass down on the coffee table. “In the meantime, we have a guest.”

Eggsy straightened up as Letizia got to her feet, his eyes on the lift. It didn't announce itself the way elevators in public buildings did; but he could hear the faint hum of its machinery moving. He had the feeling Letizia could have kept this guest from entering if she chose to, and he wondered why she'd decided to let them in.

The doors opened.

There was a Kingsman on the other side. Eggsy didn't recognise him, and he was beginning to regret not memorising the painted faces that hung in the dining room of the Savile Row shop. He had silver hair, thinning on top and glasses, and an umbrella over his arm. He smiled politely as he stepped out of the lift. Eggsy had seen Harry put on the harmless act and he wasn't fooled by this one.

“Good evening,” he said.

“Hello,” Letizia said, striding over to greet him. “Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“Tristan, Madam.” He glanced at Eggsy, “Good evening, Galahad.”

“All right,” Eggsy said, nodding warily.

“I'm here to bring you home,” he said. “Sort this mess out.”

“Where's Harry?” Eggsy asked.

“We rather hoped he'd be here,” Tristan said cautiously.

“Ha.” Eggsy grinned, relieved that his mentor was still at large. “Well he ain't, and I'm not going anywhere without him.”

“Eggsy, this is for his sake as well as yours. It's too late to undo what he's done, so we need to move forward. Induct you properly.”

“You mean kill me.”

“No, of course not. Harry may have broken a few rules but we're not about to execute him. We can work out something else until the succession happens naturally.”

Letizia stood to one side, letting them talk without comment. Her body posture was relaxed, but Eggsy noticed she didn't take her eyes off Tristan for a second.

“There's nothin' natural about the successions right now. Look what happened to Percival.”

Tristan frowned, “We're working on that, and this rebellion of Harry's is dividing our resources that could be better spent investigating.”

“I can tell you what happened, or rather, who's behind it. Arthur's already tried to kill me. Twice as it happens. I'm afraid, as much as you might intend to keep your word, I just can't trust it.”

“Galahad, these are orders.”

“Given by a traitor.” Eggsy shook his head and folded his arms. “I ain't going anywhere. I'm waiting for Harry.”

Tristan sighed, “I'd really hoped it wouldn't come to this.”

“Be aware,” Letizia spoke. “This young man is my guest. As long as he remains under my roof, he is also under my protection. You attempt to remove him against his will at your peril. This is your only warning.”

“Ms Vico, I speak for all of Kingsman when I say we deeply regret that it has come to this.”

“I'm sure you do. Protect him,” she added to no one in particular but Eggsy inhaled sharply as the snake glided out from under the couch he was sitting on and coiled in front of him. He didn't need Merlin's help now; head raised and hood flared, he knew a cobra when he saw one. He stared at it, but it ignored him, its attention on Tristan. Eggsy was now all but pinned, not game to move in case the snake turned towards him. Nevertheless, he eased his hand inside his jacket; he didn't want anyone to die if he could help it, as Tristan was just following orders, after all, and didn't have the whole story.

Tristan's attention was on Letizia. He'd settled into a fighting stance, and he didn't look particularly happy, just determined. Letizia looked mildly surprised he hadn't backed down, even though she wasn't carrying anything that could be used as a weapon that Eggsy could see.

Tristan slid his blade out of the umbrella, tossing the furled top aside. The steel ran red as his blood trickled down the blade. With a sort of elegance even Harry might not be able to match, he seemed to flow backwards, stepping away from Letizia and back towards the lift.

For a moment, Eggsy wondered if he was beating a strategic retreat, but he turned, just slightly, and tiny drops of blood landed on the hardwood floor as he struck out. Twice. He hadn't aimed at Letizia, but at the men's hats sitting oddly on the hat stand. They fell to the floor, each in two neat pieces.

“Well.” Letizia's voice had grown a great deal colder, and she opened her hands and flexed her fingers, her nails glinting like claws. “That was uncalled for.”

She stepped forward, and Tristan raised his blade.


	19. Chapter 19

Eggsy realised he was sweating. Despite the fact that he could clearly see it was a cold Autumn night outside through the large glass panels, he felt like he was sitting in the sun. He was surprised he wasn’t casting a shadow; he could feel the heat beating down upon him, and a faint breeze laden with earthy smells that weren’t quite familiar.

It was disorienting to say the least.

“That’s enough of that nonsense,” Letizia said, waving her hand like she was conducting an orchestra. The water in their glasses, still standing on the coffee table, leaped upwards like a dolphin, and at Letizia’s gesture flung itself along Tristan’s bloodied blade, washing it clean.

Tristan tried to avoid the water, but he couldn’t hide his blade. He needed it. A flock of birds peeled itself out of the pattern of a china vase and flung themselves at him, and he defended, cutting and slashing and the air was full of bits of feathers, but no blood.

Letizia danced among the chaos, still barefoot, pulling creatures quite literally out of the woodwork in some cases. Eggsy guessed this is what life would be like on certain Class A drugs. He couldn’t say he was a fan. The cobra was still sitting in front of him, its head moving slightly, giving the impression it was following the action.

Tristan was magnificent, defending himself with speed and aplomb, but Eggsy couldn’t see how he could possibly hope to win. Letizia had him on the defensive.

And then Eggsy smelled something other than sun-drenched flowers and freshly turned earth.

Petrol.

Tristan had been scoring marks on Letizia’s hardwood floor with his blade, even as he continued to evade her, and now he clicked his heels together and stomped his left foot. The creatures evaporated as a ring of flames, impossibly high given the minuscule amount of accelerant, rose up around Tristan and the creatures burned like they were made of paper. He didn’t wait for the flames to die down.

The air clear, he leaped through flames, blade raised and slashed down at Letizia’s face.

“No.” She raised her hand, calmly, like she was declining a waiter’s offer to top up her wine glass, and the blade obeyed. It didn’t pass through her, or bend around, Eggsy thought, but he wasn’t sure. She stepped aside and Tristan landed, lashing out with a backhand that she stepped away from.

“How dare you,” Letizia said calmly. “Raise your blade to me in my own home.”

The floor erupted into a mass of grasping wooden hands and Tristan was forced to evade again. It looked like she was out of animals, and was now intent on using the building itself to attack him. Tristan attacked back, his blade gleaming once again with blood. Eggsy wanted to tell him to give it up; it wasn’t worth dying over something like this. Not for Chester.

But his mouth was dry and his tongue didn’t seem to want to move. He could feel himself sweating in the impossible sunlight. His suit felt uncomfortably heavy and warm. Tristan looked like he was sweating too, but he hadn’t given up yet.

He seemed to have found a safe spot to stand, in the charred circle he’d burnt into the floor, and Eggsy saw Tristan draw something out of his coat and fling it at Letizia.

A blade. Thick and unweighted; not designed to be thrown. It had taken real skill to make it fly true. Letizia held up her hand and her eyes widened in surprise and pain as the blade sank right into it, sliding out the other side of her hand, bloody and gleaming. Even, so she'd caught it, and the blade halted inches from her chest.

The three of them were silent for a moment as blood trickled down Letizia’s wrist and dripped onto the floor.

“So this is your trump card,” she said. “What sort of fool would I be to leave that ghost unlaid?”

Tristan sort of sagged, and Eggsy sensed his defeat. And Letizia sensed her triumph. The wood buckled and cracked under Tristan’s feet and the circle broke as he leaped away.

There was nowhere safe to land. The hands grabbed him and pulled him to the floor, his glasses skittering off his face as they wrenched him first to his knees and then flat on his face.

The blade was still buried in Letizia’s hand. It looked like a standard, long-bladed kitchen knife. She regarded it briefly and then stepped forward, heedless of the blood she dripped.

The wooden hands had prised Tristan’s fingers from his sword and she stooped and picked it up in her left hand. She stood over him dispassionately.

“Queen takes knight,” she said, raising his own weapon above his neck. “As if there was any doubt.” She stabbed the blade down.

“Don’t kill him!” Eggsy was on his feet, heedless of the snake, which coiled swiftly out of his way now the danger was over.

The blade hovered an inch from Tristan’s neck. Tristan closed his eyes.

“His life is mine,” Letizia said. She turned, tossing Tristan’s blade aside, and smiled, showing teeth. “What will you give me in exchange?” She picked her way barefoot through the chaos, and Eggsy wished she’d take the knife out of her hand, but she seemed to have forgotten it. She was looking at him, bright eyed, expectant.

He was in fairy tale territory now, he was sure.

“A kiss?” he offered. At her raised eyebrow he added cheekily. “We could do it in the arsehole?” You never knew.

She laughed and it seemed to be genuine. Even barefoot she was an inch or so taller than he was, and she peered into his eyes. “How about something of real value,” she offered in a voice barely above a whisper. “Like your heart.”

Eggsy stared at her and he could _feel_ his heart, fluttering as if in anticipation. She watched him knowingly, close enough to touch with the slightest movement.

“Um,” Eggsy said, trying to think of some way to stall, or a counter offer.

“I could finish what he started,” she said. “He’d see you a knight, but I could make you a king.”

Harry. Eggsy could feel his metaphorical feet touch the ground again. “You can't have it. I gave it away,” he heard himself say. “My heart.” He knew it was true.

“Of course you have,” she said gently. “Boys like you always do. But I could return it to you. Make you forget.”

“No!” He physically stepped back and nearly tripped onto the sofa.

Letizia smiled at him, and she too moved away, let him breathe. “I wouldn’t have taken that offer, even if you’d made it,” she said. “I mean no slight on your heart; it’s clearly quite lovely.” She marshalled her thoughts for a moment. “Things move in one direction,” she said. “To be born, to grow old, and die, that is the ultimate fate of living things. Magicians know that this movement can be halted, delayed, reversed even, but the cost is always very high. You Kingsmen are clever, but the cost of resurrection is still a human sacrifice.” She glanced at Tristan, who was listening quietly, he looked calm. “You are aware of the rules of Kingsman succession, yes?”

“Yes,” Eggsy said.

“How much time would you really be buying? How old is the Tristan you know?” she asked.

“Oh,” Eggsy said. He didn’t know exactly, but he was older than Harry. Merlin had said something about how the Tristan was title superstitiously said to bestow a long life on those who held it.

“It’s the way of things, Eggsy,” Letizia said. “You interfere only after considering whether it is worth the cost. Your heart is worth more than this.” She gestured, an elegant resigned shrug and Eggsy yelled as Tristan was flung out the window, glass shattering like a leaf blown before a thunderstorm—Eggsy raised his arms against the flying splinters of glass.

And when he lowered them, Tristan was gone, the glass still intact, even though the rest of the battlefield was still a mess. Eggsy sagged, letting out a breath. He'd tried to save Tristan, but he knew Letizia hadn't really given him a choice.

It was kind of hard to think straight around Letizia. He felt like conversation with her was like walking a tightrope in a high wind.

Letizia raised her wounded hand and stared at the knife that impaled her.

“What is that?” Eggsy asked.

“I don’t know for certain, but I assume it’s the knife I used to kill the last king of New York City. He was my husband.”

“What did he do?” Eggsy asked.

She looked at him with surprise. “Ah, another piece of your story. You know of wives who might justly kill their husbands, don’t you?” She looked almost kind.

“Me mum,” Eggsy said before it occurred to him to lie or dodge the question. “And Dean. They weren’t married at least. No legal shit when I finally got rid of him. We don’t need him to pay Daisy’s child support any more, so. He’s gone. Good riddance.” Eggsy nodded firmly. Unless he was in deep shit, he rarely thought of his mother when he was at work; it was just too incongruous, but he thought she might like Letizia.

“Good,” Letizia said. “My husband was a Mafioso. When they want wives, they go back to the old country and buy sixteen-year-old peasant girls. He lucked out and got a witch.”

“That sounds awful.”

“Don’t feel too sorry for me,” Letizia said with a grim little smile. “I got an awful lot of what I asked for.”

“You’re hand’s still bleeding,” Eggsy said, by now starting to get a bit concerned.

“I’ve summoned help,” Letizia said.

Help arrived a couple of minutes later in the form of the receptionist carrying a large first aid box. He didn’t seem particularly worried by the state of Letizia’s apartment, and he ignored Eggsy entirely, making a beeline for his employer. She sat on one of the kitchen stools and pulled the blade out of her own hand. She tossed it aside and let the receptionist stitch her up. He was pretty good, Eggsy thought. He’d clearly had some training.

“You were very lucky,” he said. “It didn’t hit a major blood vessel or sever any ligaments.”

“Lucky indeed,” she said. “I make my own luck. Although I did run a bit short in the end.”

The receptionist didn’t answer, instead frowning and pressing his lips together. Eggsy watched him silently. He held Letizia’s hand gently, apologising for any pain, his gaze occasionally flicking up to her face. Letizia herself paid little attention; she seemed more interested in surveying the damage done to her room.

Once Letizia’s hand was sewn up and bandaged, the receptionist took his leave. She thanked him lightly and he gave her a lingering look before stepping into the lift.

“He likes you, you know,” Eggsy said, once the doors had closed.

“Oh, you are sweet. He’s very lucky to have you.” Letizia looked at him, amused, while Eggsy flushed. He’d never vocalised his affection for Harry to anyone, and part of him regretted letting the words slip. It made him feel vulnerable. “Of course he does,” she added. “But I don’t date my employees. I much prefer lost waifs who turn up on my doorstep bringing fire and steel in their wake.”

“I’m very sorry about the mess,” Eggsy said.

Letizia waved her good hand. “Someone will clean it up. What I want to know is why your king has it in for you so badly.”

“I killed him the first time around,” Eggsy said. “And he never liked me. And he probably thinks he can use me to get to Harry. And he’s just a prick.”

“How interesting. Well, there seems very little you can do other than wait for Mister Hart, but you are perfectly safe here. There’s a room free on the third floor if you’re feeling jetlagged, but you’re probably safe enough even if you went outside.”

“No, um, Harry expects me to be at this address so I think I’ll stay inside.”

“As you like. Order whatever you like if you get hungry. My guests don’t pay for anything in this city.”

Eggsy knew he was being dismissed, and he thanked Letizia again and took his leave.

He sighed with relief when he was in the lift. That could have probably gone a lot worse, he thought. He was expecting the third floor to be a bit like a motel, but instead he found himself in another open plan living area, this one decidedly more masculine.

Eggsy stepped out cautiously. A couple of guys were making some sort of stir-fry in the kitchen.

“Good evening,” Eggsy said, when they looked over at him.

“Hey. Nice accent.”

“Uh, thank you. What is this place?”

“Servant’s quarters,” the other said. “Are you new?”

“No, I’m a guest.”

Eggsy didn’t spend a whole lot of time evaluating other blokes, Harry being an honourable exception, but three for three so far Letizia’s employees were all young, male, and rather good looking. Harry’s words floated back to him. _I_ _have a feeling_ _she’ll like you._

Cheeky bugger, he thought. He hoped Harry wouldn’t have been so blasé if he’d realised Letizia was in the business of trading hearts. Well, it was a moot point now; all that was left was to make the best of it.

He stepped forward and offered his hand. “I’m Eggsy. Apparently there’s a spare room for me? That smells fucking good by the way.”


	20. Chapter 20

Harry had taken the various magical networks as far as the Channel, but he wasn’t game to use the Kingsman network. With his glasses on he was almost impossible to trace if he was careful, and he didn’t want them to know he was back in the country if he could help it.

So he took the Eurostar and then a taxi to retrieve his Jag, which had racked up considerable parking fees in his absence. He didn’t much care; good luck tracking a Kingsman vehicle. He added some security of his own to the car, chalk and engine grease stolen from other vehicles. It would have to do.

Nevertheless, it was a nervy drive back to his house. He was on high alert the entire time, watching the traffic closely and occasionally detouring to either lose or reveal any pursuers.

They’d be foolish not to keep an eye on his house, and as Harry approached he acted under the assumption that they’d come after him as soon as he arrived. The cottage was just as he’d left it, two copies of _The Sun_ sitting on his doorstep. He ignored them, unlocking the front door with his hand on his umbrella handle.

The house was empty.

Harry was in and out in five minutes; he always kept an overnight bag packed, and he threw his spellbook in on top of the neatly folded shirts, but he needed to change his clothes.

James caught up with him ten minutes later. Unlike Gawain, Harry had worked with James before they'd died and knew how he operated. He also had the advantage that James was somewhat wary of him, afraid of his brutal edge. They’d been recruited at roughly the same time, and neither of them had seniority, but James always deferred to Harry in the field, although neither of them ever spoke about it under other circumstances.

And now he wasn’t quite brave enough to take Harry down. He wasn’t much more experienced at magic either, and Harry was desperate enough to hurl curses out his open window, sending cars stalling and careening in his wake. James was a fine driver, and he managed to keep ahead, just, of a traffic jam so unfathomably awful Harry suspected it would make the newspapers tomorrow.

But he couldn’t catch Harry.

Maybe his heart wasn’t entirely in it; Harry didn’t know. Harry left his Jag in short-term parking at Heathrow and paid through the nose to be on the next available flight to New York.

In the air Harry had the time to examine his spellbook, but it was just a bit too unusual to take out in public and he decided against it. Instead he tried to get some sleep and ended up thinking about Eggsy. He couldn’t contact him, and while Harry was mostly convinced that Letizia wouldn’t hurt him, that didn’t mean he was exactly safe. If any harm came to him, Harry would be to blame.

He hadn’t had any choice, he reminded himself. He was sort of short on friends.

It was mid-morning when he arrived, and he felt a great deal of relief to be in Letizia’s territory rather than Chester's. The taxi driver refused to take his money when he deposited him outside Letizia’s building, and Harry took that to be a good sign.

Even better was the fact that the receptionist was expecting him, and told him to go right up before offering to take his bag.

Harry declined politely. His book was too large to carry comfortably by itself and he knew better than to let it out of his possession.

As the lift doors opened, Harry heard Eggsy’s voice, and he felt such deep relief that he was all right, that he was safe and reasonably happy, it startled him.

“I said she didn’t have to but when Daisy’s older she’s gonna get a part-time job, she reckons-” he broke off as the doors opened.

Eggsy and Letizia were having coffee and biscuits and apparently talking about Eggsy's mother. It wasn't exactly what he'd expected.

“Harry!” Eggsy’s face lit up in a rather similar fashion to the way Mister Pickle’s did whenever Harry got home after a long absence. He got to his feet and Harry got the impression he was resisting the urge to run over and hug him. “Everything go alright?”

Harry couldn’t blame him; he’d died on him once, after all.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. How about you?”

“We had some excitement,” Letizia said, rising to her feet and walking over to greet him. The apartment looked and felt exactly like Harry remembered, save for the fact that the hats that had so unsettled him the first time were missing. He kissed her hand, which was bandaged, he noticed, and she bid him to sit while she got another cup. She looked just as calm and unruffled as he remembered.

Eggsy was not quite so calm; he looked worried and a bit guilty.

“Tristan came after me. I said I wouldn’t go, and Letizia said she wouldn’t let him take me and uh.”

“He made a very unfortunate decision,” Letizia said. “And paid the price.”

Harry took a deep breath. “I see. Thank you, Letizia, for keeping him safe. It's not your fault, Eggsy; Tristan knew who he was fighting and what the consequences would be.”

“It's a waste,” Eggsy said quietly.

“You can mourn when this is over. Now is not the time.” Letizia poured Harry some coffee. “I’m rather curious as to what you two intend to do next. Eggsy’s told me what he knows of your situation.”

“To be honest, I was hoping you’d have some advice.”

“Well, for that you’ll have to tell me what you know, even if it does go against your instincts to do so.”

Harry glanced at Eggsy and he shrugged. “What have we got to lose? Kingsman is finished if we don’t do something.”

Letizia’s help was why he was here, after all, and Harry sat down and started to explain. Neither Eggsy nor Letizia interrupted while he spoke. When he finished they sat in silence for a while.

“So the rumours are true,” Letizia mused. “Something does stir in the deep blue sea. It’s not something I concern myself with personally, but others have noticed ripples.”

“How can something live in the deep blue sea?” Harry asked.

“Kill is such an imprecise word. Do you know why Kingsman was formed?”

“World War One. The sheer quantity of blood that was spilled in Europe woke something up, and a group of wizards and their associates killed it. They formed Kingsman to make sure it wouldn’t happen again,” Harry quoted what Merlin had told him.

“Mm. Yes, that’s what I’ve heard too. I always wondered what sort of beast it was that would take a million deaths to stir. And how they managed to slay such a creature. Or even if such a creature could truly be slain as we understand the term.”

“But isn’t the sea not really real?” Eggsy asked, his forehead wrinkling. “Like, you said it was death; it’s not a place you can go.”

“It’s real enough, in a sense” Letizia said. “It is even possible to reach it physically, if you have enough tamed water that’s deep and dark.”

“So the Kingsmen didn’t kill this thing, they put it in the deep blue sea which is sorta but not really the same thing?” Eggsy asked.

“It’s the only beast I can think of that’s associated with the Kingsmen,” Letizia said. “It’s a guess, but an educated one. Chain it up down there and it’s good as dead. Whatever it is, you will need to deal with it before you deal with your king. You carry the sea inside you; therefore you carry the beast, too. I dare say he’d rather not summon it but if you make a concerted attempt on his life, he will.”

“It ate Percival,” Harry said. “And will eat others. That’s reason enough to kill it, but if the original Kingsmen couldn’t why do you think we could?”

“It’s been in the sea a hundred years, in the cold and dark. I dare say they had to weaken it significantly before they could force it down there, too. It will be old, and weak, and insane, I’m quite sure. And of course,” Letizia smiled. “You have much bigger guns than they did back then.”

“Couldn’t you do it?” Eggsy asked. “I mean, defeat Chester. You don’t carry the sea.” He looked at her, and Harry felt a spike of jealousy; of course she’d be a far superior wizard. To kill Tristan she’d have to be (and Harry would have felt worse about that if he hadn’t been dreading going up against him himself, and if he had exchanged more than a handful of words with the man in his entire life. Harry had resigned himself to casualties. He only hoped he could spare James if it came to that.)

“Defeat him? Probably. But he’s a king and I’m a queen, and we represent more than ourselves. If I defeat him, I defeat you all. In a magical sense, New York City annexes England. My grip on the island would be weak, being as it’s across the Atlantic, and someone else would pick me off soon enough.”

“Oh,” Eggsy said.

“From my perspective, it's suicidal. Eggsy, to be honest, I think it’s going to have to be you.”

“No,” Harry said firmly. “Chester is a wizard, and as skilled an agent as Eggsy is, he doesn’t stand a chance. I have to do it.”

“The thing is,” Letizia said. “Royalty is hard to kill, as Tristan discovered. Usually we kill each other; royal assassins rarely live to enjoy their reward. But Eggsy has already killed Chester once and survived. He has the, how do I put this, _shape_ of the man who killed the king. More specifically, he’s Chester’s nemesis. Many of his defences will be useless against Eggsy because Eggsy is already inside them.”

“He’s not a wizard,” Harry said.

“Then kill the beast and kill him. Then he will be.”

“No way! Then Harry dies,” Eggsy interjected.

“Then kill the beast, elect a new Arthur and kill him instead. Much simpler.”

“That’s,” Harry frowned. “A last resort. Either way, the beast is our priority.”

“Agreed,” Letizia said. “This concerns all of us, not just the Kingsmen. The sooner you move the less likely other practitioners are going to stick their oar in.”

“So we find it, and blow it up,” Eggsy said. “Big lot of tamed water, so like a lake or something?”

“Yes. Or a dam. Some dams have been created for the express purpose of allowing access to the deep blue sea, or so the story goes. You’ll need to find the one the Kingsmen used, however.”

“Somewhere in the UK,” Harry said. “Or Europe.”

Eggsy laughed, throwing his head back in delight, startling them both. He looked from Harry to Letizia and back again.

“C’mon it’s obvious.”

“I don’t have a working knowledge of Britain's waterways,” Letizia said.

“Yeah, but, like, big lake, big monster? It’s gotta be Loch Ness.”

“Ahh,” Letizia smiled. “You are very clever. It’s a legend that only gained real shape last century, after all.”

Eggsy grinned and then glanced at Harry for confirmation.

“It’s definitely where we should look first,” he said. “Good thinking.” Eggsy’s grin was for Letizia but his smile was for Harry. “I need to some research first,” Harry said.

“On the monster?” Eggsy asked.

“On the deep blue sea,” Harry said quietly. “I don’t think it will be enough just to turn up at the water’s edge.” He resisted the urge to put his hand to his heart, feel the crash and thump of his heartbeat that sounded so much like waves now.

Eggsy didn’t say anything, but he grew sombre. Harry had hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“You’re welcome to stay here in the meantime,” Letizia said. “I’m not really the sort of person who keeps a collection of musty old tomes but there are one or two people in the city who run the sort of bookshops you might find relevant. The boy downstairs will give you details.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. “You’ve been very generous with your time.”

“You’re waiting for me to name a price, I know. We’ve struck no bargain, so you owe me nothing. Everything I’ve given I’ve given freely. The company of this charming young man has been enough.” She smiled at Eggsy, who gave her an odd look, almost conspiratorial. “But I’m sure you want to speak in private. If you’re still in town, feel free to join me for dinner.”

“Harry needs a room,” Eggsy blurted out fast.

Letizia looked at him in slightly mocking surprise. “Of course he does. Why wouldn’t I offer him one?”

“Right, yeah,” Eggys muttered. “Sorry.” Harry tried to catch his eye, but Eggsy determinedly avoided it. How curious.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked, as they went down in the lift.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just.” He shrugged. “Glad you’re here. I feel a bit outclassed around Letizia. Like she knows what I’m gonna say before I’ve even thought it.” He took a deep breath. “So, you’ll handle the magic and I’ll get us some super huge guns, yeah? And then we’ll go Loch Ness Monster hunting.” He grinned. “Man, it sucks so much I won’t ever be allowed to tell anyone about this.”

“If we survive,” Harry reminded him.

“We should get it stuffed,” Eggsy said. “You can put it in the bog at Hogwarts.”

He's trying to cheer me up, Harry thought. It wasn't really working, but he appreciated it nonetheless. He couldn't possibly let Chester hurt him, nemesis or not.


	21. Chapter 21

It had rained ever since they’d returned to England. Not a damp English drizzle but real rain that came down in sheets and reduced visibility to little more than the width of a street. There was something ominous about it; unwelcoming. It was hard to feel optimistic.

It was dark, and felt a lot later than it actually was. The services off the M40 looked like a brightly-lit ship adrift in a storm tossed sea, and outside the street lights and signs doubled in the wet, gleaming bitumen and concrete. In the corner of the car park, away from all the cameras, a jeep crawled along and carefully selected an empty park from all the others.

Headlights out.

The driver’s door opened and the driver emerged, umbrella-less and bare-headed in the rain. She stepped away from the vehicle, her hands in the air.

Eggsy waited another couple of minutes before nosing Harry's Jag forward, parking the jeep in.

“Nice car,” Roxy said, when Eggsy emerged. He was carrying an umbrella over his head, and he had a spare under his arm, which he handed to her. He’d bought both of them from the chemist, and while she’d still probably be able to kill someone with it, she’d have a lot more trouble doing so.

Her suit was soaked, and she wasn’t wearing her glasses. As miserable as the rain was, the wash was so constant they’d be all but useless. Eggsy had no doubt Merlin was listening in, however.

“Sorry about this,” Eggsy said, a bit stiffly.

They regarded each other warily, each trying to gauge the other’s position. It was horrible looking at Roxy like this. Eggsy was tired and a bit scared and he wished he could take her into his confidence.

“How’s Merlin?” Eggsy asked.

“He’s fine. He’s holed up at HQ; hasn’t left for nearly a week. I go over to his flat and water his plants for him,” Roxy said, wiping water off her face with a handkerchief. “Do you know he keeps orchids?”

“Huh, I always pictured him as the carnivorous plant type.” Something passed between them then, a sliver of familiarity, as if they hadn’t quite believed the other was the real thing until that moment.

“Eggsy,” Roxy said softly.

“Have you got the stuff?” Eggsy asked. If she was too sympathetic there was a risk he'd crack.

“Yes. Although your instructions were a little vague.” Keeping her hands where he could see them she walked around the back of the jeep and unlocked the rear doors.

Eggsy surveyed the quantities of high-powered weapons with satisfaction. He'd asked for 'the biggest guns you can find' and he thought she'd done a bang up job. “I just hope this is enough.”

“I know this is a stupid question, but what do you need all this for?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Eggsy said. He didn't entirely believe it himself yet. “Thanks, Rox. I owe you one. Let’s get this stuff in the boot before someone thinks we’re dealing and calls the filth.”

Roxy put down her umbrella and started ferrying the goods across to the Jag. Eggsy felt a bit bad about not helping, but he didn’t want to have his hands occupied. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Roxy, it was that he _couldn’t_. Too much was a stake.

It didn’t all fit. He ended up with half of it stashed on the back seat. Roxy helpfully threw a blanket over it before shutting the door.

“Got any trackers on these?” Eggsy asked casually.

“We thought about it, but since we don’t know what these are for it was better not to have any unusual tech on them in case they fall into the wrong hands.”

“Right.”

“We believe you, you know,” Roxy said. “The capture on sight order is still in effect, so as not to tip off any moles, but unofficially we believe you.”

“You do?” Eggsy said, feeling something like hope.

“Well, I want to. Merlin has decided to believe you for now. I think he’s going to have words when all this is over, however. You better have excellent excuses handy.”

“I don’t have excuses, I’ve got a reason,” Eggsy said, although he didn’t know if he’d be able to tell Merlin what that was. When all this is over; it didn’t feel like it would ever be over. He tried to picture himself back at home, everything back to normal, and he just couldn’t.

The world was different now.

“You leave first,” Eggsy said. “Make sure Merlin’s alright. No one else has died yet, yeah?”

Roxy shook her head, “Everything’s fine so far. Good luck.”

“Thanks, you too.”

Eggsy waited ten minutes after Roxy had pulled out onto the highway before he started driving. He didn’t go far. He drove up to the services and Harry got in, shaking the water out of his umbrella before shutting the door.

“Anything?” Eggsy asked.

“I don’t think so. She parked over the circle. Although chalk loses its integrity pretty fast in this weather; I wouldn’t have bet on it still being there by the time she arrived.”

“Yeah, she followed my instructions to the letter. I’m a bit worried about the gear though. Merlin and his bugs.”

“I wouldn’t be,” Harry said. “In a car warded like mine is, you wouldn’t be able to make a phone call.”

“Interference,” Eggsy said. He’d been trying to make like Chester and learn all he could, even though Harry wouldn’t give him a look at his spellbook. When they'd bid farewell to Letizia she'd told him he would make a fine practitioner someday and that she looked forward to seeing him in action.

Eggsy was a bit more ambivalent.

“Exactly. This rain is good,” Harry said. “It will hide us from all sorts of prying eyes. We don’t want Chester to know what we’re up to.”

“Straight on to Scotland then?” Eggsy grinned. “And did you get me a pie?”

“I got you all sorts of disgusting things,” Harry said, the bag he was carrying rustling invitingly.

“Is that all for me?” Eggsy asked, eyeing it hungrily.

“Of course not.”

The rain might have hid them but it also slowed them down, and they arrived in Inverness in the early hours of the morning. It was still raining, and the weather reports on the radio (on the rare occasions Eggsy could get anything but oddly disturbing distortions and static) implied that it wasn’t about to clear up just yet.

They parked somewhere. It was too dark to see much of Inverness, and they were tired. They’d come here all but direct from New York, not game to stop and catch their breath, or get some sleep. It was a long drive, and Harry had insisted they swap places sometime around midnight. Harry himself hadn't gotten any sleep; he'd spent the first half of the drive with the overhead light on, frowning at his spellbook.

Eggsy had stretched out in the passenger seat and tried to get some rest, but it was hard to come by. Mostly he just watched Harry through slitted eyes. Letizia hadn't taken his heart, but she had shown it to him. He'd been so happy that Harry wasn't dead, he hadn't dared asked for more; it seemed unreasonable and selfish, but now he knew he couldn't just let Harry go when this was over. Eggsy's heart hung heavy and full behind his ribs, and he was going to give it away, he promised himself. He was going to tell him.

Fuck seduction, fuck trying to work out what he'd think of it. They were beyond that sort of bullshit now. Pared right back to their bones. Eggsy trusted Harry enough to reject him kindly if he chose.

“We're here,” Harry said, and only then did Eggsy realise he'd actually managed to doze off as Harry's voice woke him up.

They both looked worn around the edges, stubbled and pale, shadows under their eyes. The fugitive look, Eggsy thought.

“How do we do this?” Eggsy asked.

“If we have the correct lake, indeed, if we have the right idea at all, there should already be a link between the loch and the deep blue sea. I just need to open it. Summon the sea inside myself and bring it forth, is the easiest way. Other methods require sacrifices.”

“Then what?”

“If you live in a cell for a hundred years in the dark and then someone opens the cell door, what do you do?”

“It’s gonna come right at us.”

“I’d imagine so.”

“I'll set up the AW50 then. Smack it right between the eyes.”

“You need to stay back, Eggsy. Whatever you do, keep clear of the water.”

“Don’t worry about me. You’re the one it’s going to see first.” Eggsy hated this but he knew their best chance was to let Harry do this thing. He knew Harry hated this too; the sea frightened him, and now he had to bring it forth somehow. “Are we going to do this now?”

“Yes, we don't have any time to waste. And I think it would be best, if we're going to let off heavy weapons, to do so before the tourists are awake.”

“I'm not going to be able to see shit,” Eggsy said sometime later, peering out into the rainy dark as they drove by the loch. Or at least, what Eggsy assumed was the loch. Harry wanted a place that wasn't too near any other people.

“Mm. Here will do.”

The AW50 was an anti-materiel rifle, designed to take out light vehicles and instillations. Eggsy had big, heavy explosive incendiary rounds for it and he spread out a tarpaulin and draped a waterproof cover over himself as he set it up on the ground near the Jag, lying prone on the sodden earth, the barrel braced on its own little stand. He could see nothing through the sights but darkness.

Harry stood under his umbrella a little distance away while Eggsy worked to assemble the weapon, and stared out at the Loch.

Eggsy wiped water out of his eyes and called softly that he was ready.

“But I still can't see anything.”

“I know,” Harry said. Eggsy could barely make him out over the sound of the rain falling on the plastic draped over his head. “I'll take care of it.”

Letizia made it look effortless. Like she wasn't doing anything at all. Harry didn't; when he raised his hand, Eggsy could see the effort, he could feel it. He'd seen Harry do magic, real magic, before, but this time he sensed the scope of it, the power on a scale that was inhuman. Eggsy expected his wrist to break, his bones to crack, the air itself to razor him apart, as Harry pushed against the rain.

It slackened. Harry didn't move, umbrella over his head and his right hand extended.

The rain stopped. A strange hush fell, and Eggsy worked his jaw, his ears ringing as he tried to make them pop. He could see the loch, lit by stars, and he looked up, and felt the air leave his lungs in awe.

The clouds were parting, shredding impossibly swiftly as he watched, stars appearing between them, a gash in the sodden sky growing wider. A sliver of moon hung over the loch, which was so still Eggsy could see it reflected perfectly.

A body of water that big shouldn't be that still, but there was not a breath of wind. All Eggsy could hear was his own breathing and the last few drops of rain falling. He pushed the plastic cover off; it would only hamper him if he had to move, and he no longer needed it.

Harry lowered his hand, and furled his umbrella before drawing the blade.

Eggsy recognised the next words he spoke. He'd last said them on a Geneva rooftop, and when he stepped forward none of the pebbles under his feet moved. He walked out to the water, took a step more. Ripples spread from under his feet, but he didn't sink.

Eggsy lowered his head and peered through the scope.

The water of the loch was bulging. Rising up without a ripple. Eggsy blinked, wondering if he was seeing things.

Then it broke the surface. Eggsy thought it was the broad, leathery back of some huge aquatic creature, and then its eyes opened, glowing gold, and he realised that was its _head._ And it kept rising, braced on a neck the size of a skyscraper, even the vast plane of water that was the surface of Loch Ness seemed too small to hold it; it had to come from somewhere else, somewhere much bigger.

On either side of the head mountainous objects breached the surface, and it was only when Eggsy saw the ragged holes, the impossibly huge chains that looped through them that he realised they were wings, chained down.

“Dragon,” he heard himself mutter, weirdly calm, like he was reporting back to his handler.

And then he sighted the vast slate-coloured forehead of the beast and pulled the trigger, putting a .50 calibre armour-piercing incendiary projectile right between its eyes.


	22. Chapter 22

The gun had a kick like a mule, but Eggsy had fired similar before and was ready for it. Fire bloomed like a rose between the dragon's eyes and it flinched back, chunks of flaming something falling into the water below. It shook its great head slightly, and Eggsy saw a crater in its face, maybe bone gleaming, he wasn't sure. But it sure as hell hadn't come anywhere near to taking it out.

It opened its great jaws, uneven rows of serrated teeth bared, and Eggsy braced himself for a scream or a roar, but only a great hiss rose from its throat, steam or smoke obscuring Eggsy's view.

He chambered another round, and this time aimed for what he hoped was one of the dragon's eyes. He couldn't see Harry, but Harry knew where he was and would keep out of his way, whatever he was doing. Eggsy had to trust he was okay.

Eggsy heard the water lap at the edge of the lake, a little wave that crested no more than a few inches high, but it was enough to warn him what was coming. He scrambled to his feet, hauling the rifle with him as the dragon's head emerged from the steam, still trailing burning meat, and lunged at him, slamming its head on the ground. The ground bounced under Eggsy's feet from the impact of that massive head, the dragon's jaw shattering the crust of the road behind him. Eggsy lost his footing, went tumbling, the rifle stock jarring against his ribs.

He looked up as the dragon started lifting its head. He could see now how battered it was. Old craters pockmarked its armoured hide, and many of its teeth were broken. The area around its eyes was particularly damaged, and what he'd taken to be horns or scales was scar tissue. That's right, the Kingsmen had beaten this creature once, he remembered.

It was wet and dripping, but there were no barnacles, no weed, nothing lived in the water it had been confined to, nothing but the dragon itself. The chains that held it down were slightly rusted but otherwise clean as the day they were made.

“I'm going to need something bigger,” Eggsy muttered, getting to his feet. The Jag was on the other side of the dragon's head, however, and luckily it hadn't been crushed by it.

The dragon moved slowly having expended some energy lunging at Eggsy, its wings still pinned back by the chains. Eggsy almost felt sorry for it, even if the call it had answered was the deaths of millions.

He saw Harry then, walking on air, or rather, running. He went for the creature's eye, many times larger than he was. Tearing his blade up through it like a curtain. The dragon jerked its head just a little but that was enough to send Harry flying.

He didn't land in the water. He got his feet under him before he landed and the dragon curled its head around after him, eye weeping fluid into the loch below. Eggsy saw his chance, and he slung the rifle on his back and ran, stumbling over the great dip in the ground where the dragon's head had landed. He could see the dragon above him out of the corner of his eye, as he ran underneath it, water dripping down around him. Harry just needed to keep it distracted.

He skidded to a halt by the Jag, tossing the rifle aside and hauling the Starstreak HVM out of the back seat. He doubted he'd have time to reload, so best make it count, he thought.

Where was Harry? He looked like a gnat compared to the dragon, which had sunk back into the loch and was trying to focus on him, its neck swaying. Its eye seemed to have healed, and Eggsy guessed the amount of firepower that the original Kingsman had aimed at it had done no good.

They hadn't covered how to kill a dragon in his Kingsman training, he thought as he knelt down and adjusted the sites; there was no wind, the missile was smart enough to track the target, but where the fuck was he supposed to aim? The head didn't seem to be a weak point.

He looked up, through the scope, seeking Harry. He was standing above the dragon, and stepping higher, blade in one hand and gun in the other. The gun was useless, surely, but Eggsy could see the muzzle flare as he fired down. Counted shots, pause for reload or to change weapons always climbing higher as he rained lead down on the creature as it tilted its head, first one eye then the other, to look at him. Triangulating. Working out exactly where he was.

It sank down in the water a bit and Eggsy pulled his head away from the scope to get a look at the bigger picture. What was it doing?

Oh Christ.

It lunged upwards, mouth gaping, the wash from its wings sending half a foot of water towards the pebbled edge of the loch as it propelled itself upwards, the chains pulling taut, yanking down at its wings as it stretched its neck impossibly high to snap. It's jaws slammed together with a sound like thunder. Eggsy couldn't even see Harry.

All the weaponry of WW1 hadn't made a dent in its head. Eggsy swung the end of the missile down and pointed it at its chest.

He hadn't fired one of these before. It was an experience. Once it was free of the tube, the missile split into three projectiles and their wake carved troughs out of the water as they streaked towards the dragon's chest. The noise was incredible and in the still air Eggsy was pretty sure the good folk of Inverness would be awake much earlier than they intended to be as the missiles tore through the sound barrier.

Eggsy didn't see the missiles hit, only the fireball the instant later, and he narrowed his eyes against the glare. The beast shuddered, and with another hiss slid down into the water in a great pillar of steam. Eggsy stared for a moment and then discarded the spent Starstreak for the rifle again. He wouldn't believe it was dead until it was dead. But it wasn't moving, and its eyes had gone dark.

Not everything had gone dark though.

Something glowed behind the steam, like the first rays of dawn, but the sun hadn't started to rise yet, the stars still shining. Eggsy aimed at the light, watching it through the scope.

The head hit the water with a splash, and Eggsy nearly jumped out of his skin as Harry landed heavily on the ground next to him moments later.

He kept his feet, just, but he was breathing harshly, and his hair was falling out of its usual style. He smelled like gunsmoke and something oddly metallic.

“Harry!”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Nice distraction. But what is that?” The dragon lay partially on the surface, just a dark shape, broken, but the light at its chest still bobbed on the water, like a lantern.

“I think it's its heart. Give me the gun.” Eggsy handed it over and frowned as Harry staggered slightly under the weight. He didn't fire it, however, instead peering down the scope. “It's still warm, but it's burning out.” He lowered the gun. “We should collect it. It's probably useful.”

“Dragon's heart? Hell yeah.” Eggsy looked up and noticed the clouds were starting to close in, more naturally than they'd parted, the normal weather reasserting itself. “It looks like rain.”

“We'd better move quickly then before it goes out.” Harry repeated his flying words, although his voice sounded reedy and thin when he did so. Eggsy wondered if it was really worth going to the effort.

“Should I come with you?” Eggsy asked.

“No, it's fine.” He found the other half of his umbrella, miraculously still in one piece, and sheathed his blade before walking out over the water again.

Eggsy packed up the weaponry. _Someone_ was going to show up to find out what all the noise was about. He regarded the impact of the dragon's head on the road and figured the legend of the Loch Ness Monster was about to get a new lease on life. He could imagine the headlines in tomorrow's _Sun_ already.

When he'd done all he can he surveyed the loch, unfurling his umbrella as soft, cold rain started to fall. As he watched, the light on the water went out.

He waited.

Someone drove along the road, and Eggsy spoke with wide-eyed excitement about the 'monster footprint' he'd found and was keeping an eye on, and the driver got so excited as well he didn't think to ask why such a well-dressed man with a Jag was standing on the shores of the loch just before dawn in the rain. It was too dark to take good pictures and he drove off quickly, presumably to spread the news.

Come on, Harry, Eggsy thought. We can't hang about here forever.

Despite the cloud, Eggsy realised he could start to see more clearly as the day began and the sky got a bit lighter. He squinted out over the water, and to his relief he saw Harry walking over it, something large and white draped over his shoulder.

The dragon had gone with the light. The surface of the loch undisturbed. Eggsy made his way down to the water's edge and as Harry got closer, Eggsy realised he was carrying someone, or mostly carrying them.

Eggsy reached for them both as Harry dragged himself the last few steps out of the water. Of all things, Eggsy hadn't expected a dragon's heart to take the form of a man in sodden flannel pyjamas. It was only when Harry levered the gentleman into Eggsy's arms that Eggsy actually recognised him, sans glasses and with his hair in disarray.

“ _Percival?_ ”

“Dragon ate him,” Harry said. “And its heart kept him warm. I could just reach in and grab him. It snuffed the heart to do so though.” He spoke like it was an effort.

Percival was awake, sort of, and he stared at Eggsy with an unfocused, puzzled expression.

“Good to have you back,” Eggsy said. “We gotta go, Harry. We're gonna have sightseers any minute.”

“My house was on fire,” Percival said, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.

“Just rest, mate. Everything's all right now.” Eggsy took most of Percival's weight and dragged him to the Jag. It wouldn't be all that comfortable sitting on the weapons in the back seat, but Percival draped the blanket around himself while Harry sank into the passenger’s side seat.

“Lot of weapons back here, you know.”

“Couldn't fit 'em all in the boot,” Eggsy said cheerfully. In a lower tone he asked Harry, “Where to?”

“Find us a public telephone,” Harry said. “This changes things. With Percival to corroborate our story, we might be able to convince the others.”

Eggsy nodded and, driving carefully around the broken stretch of road, headed for town.

There were quite a few cars going in the opposite direction; they'd managed to get clear not a moment too soon. Percival sat in the back seat shivering and frowning and clearly trying to put events together and failing. Harry seemed in no shape to explain. He rested his hands on his knees and stared out the front of the car at nothing in particular. Eggsy sensed he was holding himself together by great force of will.

When Eggsy caught his eye he smiled, however.

“You brought him back,” Eggsy said. “Well done, Harry.”

“I did. It's going to set some things right.”

“Rough night, gents?” Someone called with gentle mockery as Eggsy helped Percival out of the car while Harry held his umbrella over them.

“You have no idea,” Eggsy muttered.

“Why am I in Scotland?” Percival asked. He narrowed his eyes at Harry. “And you're supposed to be dead.”

“So are you,” Harry said softly.

Percival looked at him for a long moment and frowned.

Eggsy held the umbrella while Percival and Harry crowded around the phone. Percival was clenching his jaw to stop it chattering while Harry fed in coins and picked up the receiver.

“Hello, James,” Harry said.

Percival snapped his head up, his eyes going wide.

Harry held out the receiver. “Say hello,” he told Percival.

“Hello?”

Harry took the receiver back. “We're in Inverness. Percival needs some clothes and we need to talk. Don't tell anyone for now. I can rely on you, can't I?”

Percival looked at Eggsy and Eggsy grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. He'd never seen quite that expression on his face before. He normally looked so reserved; even when Roxy was sworn in as Lancelot, he congratulated her with a grave sort of pride, but right at the moment he was smiling, an odd sort of smile, like he couldn't help it, like he couldn't quite work out how to fit it on his face.

It made Eggsy smile too. He'd missed him, huh?

Harry hung up.

“He'll be here shortly, he says.”

“So he's on our side now?” Eggsy asked.

“Oh yes.”

“He's alive?” Percival asked.

“He can explain everything. Let's get back in the car before Percival loses his toes to frostbite.”


	23. Chapter 23

Eggsy went and bought them tea at a nearby cafe which they drank out of Styrofoam cups without complaint and watched the streets slowly fill up as the news spread of the giant footprint near the loch.

“What's going to happen?” Eggsy asked, as they watched a BBC van drive past.

“They'll say the ground's settled or something,” Harry said. “I mean, they're not going to happen across the real explanation in a million years.”

“Which still doesn't make sense,” Percival said. Harry had tried to explain things but his account seemed to make Pervical angry in a stiff-lipped sort of way and he'd lapsed into silence, looking equally put out. None of them really had the energy to argue or explain.

“How do you feel?” Eggsy asked.

“Cold,” Percival replied, even though the Jag's heater was on he was still wearing the blanket.

“Like the other shoe's about to drop,” Harry said.

The door to a rather run-down travel agency that Eggsy had been paying no attention to opened, and a man in a suit with a briefcase and umbrella stepped out of it.

“James,” Percival said faintly.

“That's Roxy's predecessor,” Harry said.

The rain had by now slackened to a sort of Scottish drizzle and the three of them got out of the Jag to meet Lancelot.

“James, Eggsy. Eggsy, James,” Harry introduced them.

James shook his hand firmly, looking amused and curious. “We meet at last.” And then his gaze landed on Percival and Eggsy could practically see James forget the rest of the world was even there.

“Percy,” he said softly.

“Hello.” Percival raised his hand as if to push his glasses up further on his nose and then realised he wasn't wearing them and awkwardly lowered his hand again.

Eggsy looked from one to the other, grinning, until Harry touched his arm and indicated they should perhaps give them some space by inclining his head.

“Are they together?” Eggsy asked in an undertone as they walked around the car and stared politely at the street rather than the pair behind them.

Harry merely shrugged.

“Bloody good to see you,” James said fervently.

Eggsy glanced over his shoulder. “They're just shaking hands!” he whispered indignantly.

“So?”

“They each thought the other was _dead_. At least I got to hug you.” Eggsy sort of choked on his words then, wondering if he'd gone too far. Harry was looking at him oddly intently, but his expression was unreadable. Eggsy turned, not wanting to look at Harry any longer, worried what he might be reading off his face. Instead he addressed James, “Kiss him, you idiot!”

“Eggsy!” Harry grabbed his arm and frowned at him. “Where are your manners? That is not your business.”

Fifteen seconds ago he couldn't bear to look Harry in the eye and now he couldn't look away. Harry still had a grip on his arm, even though he wasn't holding him particularly hard, and Eggsy couldn't pull away, and didn't want to.

Harry looked like he was trying to work out what he wanted to say, and Eggsy was scared to hear it and scared to not hear it. Maybe if he just leaned in, silenced him before he could speak-

“Are you two done?” James asked.

They jumped slightly and Harry released his arm. Percival was holding a little jam jar and pulling a face at it, like he'd eaten something odd.

“I've brought Percival a suit,” James said. “He needs to change into dry clothes and you two look like you could use a week's holiday. Unfortunately, you'll have to make do with breakfast.”

Even getting that much turned out to be difficult. Everywhere was packed, as news of the latest Loch Ness Monster incident spread. James eventually found them a bed and breakfast and was prepared to pay for beds to get at the breakfast.

Eggsy was starving and exhausted, and while Percival went up to his room to change he ordered extra of almost everything, while Harry was a little more restrained, but honestly not that much. James said he'd already had something to eat before he left and made do with tea.

The four of them sat rather incongruously in the cheerful and busy dining area, while the tourists made plans for the day and congratulated themselves on picking the exact right time to visit. Eggsy didn't think too many people actually believed in the monster, but they were having a good time going along with the idea. Even the depressing weather couldn't dispel their enthusiasm.

The only gloomy corner was the one in which the four Kingsmen sat, while Harry and Eggsy told their stories to James between mouthfuls of bacon and eggs. Percival just listened, although he did firmly corroborate Eggsy's explanation of how he came to kill Chester. It was a huge relief, and James seemed to believe them.

Percival looked much more like himself now, even without his glasses, his hair slicked back and his suit slightly ill-fitting but much more presentable than his pyjamas. He seemed resigned to believing everything, but Eggsy got the impression he rather wished the whole magic thing wasn't true.

And he kept glancing at James like he couldn't believe he was real.

When Harry told James what they'd been up to that morning, his jaw dropped.

“Bloody hell. No wonder you look like death warmed up.” He frowned, “Look, you three clearly need some rest. None of you are in any shape to confront anyone. We have rooms, and I suggest we use them. Chester is going to know his pet's dead soon enough, all he has to do is take a look at today's _Daily Mail_ and he'll be tipped off. I'm going to talk to Merlin; sound him out a bit discreetly and find out what's going on, and what Chester says is going on.”

“What has been happening?” Harry asked.

“Most of us are still assigned Kingsman agents to watch over although no one else has been attacked. I remained in England to intercept you upon your return. Tristan was sent to retrieve Eggsy, and we all know how that turned out.” James sighed. “Chester's summoned the ghosts as extra security, he says, while the organisation is under attack. It seemed reasonable.”

“How do we fight ghosts?” Eggsy asked.

“I have no idea,” James said. “One thing at a time.”

They stumbled upstairs, James herding them like sheep. Eggsy liked him; he seemed good-humoured despite everything.

Eggsy revised his opinion when he saw their room. Eggsy had told Harry he was welcome to the first shower and Harry hadn't even put up a token protest. He didn't even seen to notice the glaring issue with this room that James had acquired for them.

There was one bed.

Eggsy scowled. Okay, fine, he'd been rude, but this sort of retaliation was childish. And he just _couldn't_ share a bed with Harry. He couldn't. Harry had gone into the bathroom and shut the door and Eggsy could hear the water running. Of course he'd be okay with it; he'd say something disarming and be an utter gentleman but he deserved better.

He'd just killed a fucking dragon and brought Percival back from the dead. The least he should expect was a bed to himself.

Eggsy turned around and stalked out, stomping down to James' and Percival's room and knocking on the door, teeth gritted.

“What the hell?” Eggsy said, when James opened the door and tucked his gun back unto his jacket when he saw who it was. “I suppose you think it's funny making us share, but it ain't fair to Harry.” He could hear the whine in his voice and he hated it, but he was so tired and nervous and so not ready to have a talk with Harry (and it would be unfair to Harry to do so anyway, given he was hardly in a better state) and his inner child was having a meltdown. Which Eggsy managed to keep a lid on, mostly.

“Eggsy.”

“This isn't a fucking joke.” My feelings are not a joke.

James' lips thinned. “Galahad!” he snapped. “I didn't do it deliberately. These were the only rooms that were free unless we wanted to wait another three hours until check-out time. I'm not mocking you or Harry.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, 'oh'.”

“I'm sorry,” Eggsy said stiffly.

“Apology accepted. And I can see you're at the end of your rope, so get some sleep.”

“Yeah.”

“Eggsy,” James stopped him. “I assume you've noticed by now how reckless Harry can be. The magic he did this morning—no trickery, no mask, nothing summoned to do the dirty work for him, just sheer willpower—he's going to pay for it. Bloody idiot.”

“What do you mean?”

“If he aged like a normal person, that would have taken ten years off his life. Nothing's free, Eggsy. Don't panic, he'll probably be fine, but look after him. Actually, wait a moment.” He ducked back into the room and reappeared with a jar. “I brought this for Percy but he seems all right for now. It's English soil. He might want to eat it.”

Eggsy took the jar curiously. “Scottish soil doesn't count?”

“It might for Merlin.”

“Thanks, James.”

“I'll let you rest.”

When Eggsy got back to the room, the shower was off but the bathroom door was still shut. Eggsy sat on the bed for ten minutes, resisting the urge to just fall face-first into it and sleep. Then he started to worry.

“Harry?” he knocked on the door. “Are you all right?”

There wasn't an answer. Eggsy dithered for another thirty seconds.

“I'm coming in and if you're naked, well you shoulda said something,” he warned him before opening the door.

Harry wasn't naked. He was wearing pyjamas that actually fitted him this time, and was bent over the sink, one arm braced on the edge and the other pressed against his chest. He was shaking so violently that Eggsy didn't notice for a couple of moments that Harry's reflection in the mirror was looking right at him.

Okay.

“Harry?”

“Can you hear it?” Harry asked. His eyes were closed. “The sea.”

“No.”

“Here.” He thumped his chest. “I summoned it and now it's so close. Listen.” He beckoned Eggsy over and Eggsy approached, trying to ignore the way Harry's reflection was watching him. “Listen,” Harry repeated.

Cautiously, Eggsy bent his head to Harry's chest, feeling him tremble. Eggsy's breath caught in fear as instead of the steady thump of a heartbeat, he heard the distant boom and crash of waves.

He jerked his head away. “Fuck.”

Harry just nodded, looking old and sick.

Eggsy fumbled for the jar in his pocket. “Here, Lancelot gave me this.”

Harry snatched it out of his hand with fingers shaking so badly he couldn't get the top off until Eggsy helped him. I'll look after you, I promise, Eggsy thought as Harry ate the whole jar hungrily. He looked rather shamefaced when he lowered the jar but Eggsy just smiled at him.

“I think you need some rest.”

Harry hesitated.

“It's all right, I'll be here.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Eggsy.” He got into bed like someone twenty years older and Eggsy went to have a shower.

He nearly fell asleep under the spray.

Dragons, wizards, what a load of bollocks, he thought irritably. When he left the bathroom for one horrible moment he thought Harry was dead. He hardly seemed to be breathing, and his pulse was the slow crash of waves, but when Eggsy put his fingers on Harry's wrist to check, his hand twitched and reached for him.

Eggsy gripped his hand, and Harry's fingers were warm and reassuringly strong. Not dead yet then. He smiled with relief.

It seemed the most natural thing in the world to keep holding Harry's hand, even if it made walking around to the other side of the bed very awkward. He didn't even think about it as he slipped under the covers and nearly groaned with relief. Despite the fact it was mid-morning, he could feel sleep pulling him under before he'd even arranged the pillow properly.

He gave Harry's hand a gentle squeeze and he thought he might have felt Harry return the gesture before he sank into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.


	24. Chapter 24

Harry was inexorably dragged from a deep sleep by a terrible thirst, but he fought it valiantly. He sought to pull the soporific darkness over his head like a blanket but his throat was dry and he couldn't ignore it. He didn't want to move. Everything had worked out, he thought fuzzily, because Eggsy was in his arms. Other than his desire for water, it was the only fact that had managed to penetrate his sleep-addled brain. He held Eggsy a bit closer, his arm wrapped around Eggsy's chest and Eggsy's back pressed to his own. Their feet were tangled up, Eggsy's toes cool against Harry's ankle, his pyjama pants wrinkled around his calves. Eggsy fitted loosely into the curve of his body and Harry's blood surged. He was too polite to wake him, as much as he wanted to roll his hips forward and press himself against Eggsy's arse. Later, he supposed. When they were awake.

Instead he bent his head and pressed his nose to the nape of Eggsy's neck, breathing him in, lips brushing the vertebrae at the base of his neck. He was so warm, his breathing deep enough to lift the arm Harry had draped over him, and Harry tightened his grip, careful not to wake him, but unable to stop himself. He just wanted to cherish him, now he was free to do so.

Wait wait wait.

No. This hasn't happened. He hadn't decided anything; there were good reasons not to do this and they hadn't talked about any of them. What had happened that they were sleeping like this? Harry forced his eyes open and took in the darkened hotel room and it only took him a few seconds of mild panic to remember what they were doing here.

It was like a bucket of ice water. He'd wrapped himself around Eggsy like an octopus and he was only glad Eggsy himself seemed to have slept through it.

Cautiously, Harry disentangled himself, his heart pounding, easing his leg out from between Eggsy's, sliding his hand out under his arm, slowly, freezing whenever it looked like the younger man might start to stir.

As soon as he could, he shifted away, rolling onto his back.

His heart was pounding. His heart. He sat up abruptly, pressing his hand to his chest. He knew the difference now, and he'd learned it the hard way. He'd heard the echo of the sea in his chest ever since he'd died, but ever since he'd torn the sky asunder (had he really done that? He had.) he'd felt the real thing, his heartbeat lost entirely beneath the waves. He'd held it together long enough to reunite Percival and James, but he'd felt utterly terrified the entire time, his sense of self hanging by a tiny thread. The universe had spasmed around him, the air itself like needles, the utter insignificance of his own existence all but crushing his wit and will. He hadn't been wrong about magic, not at all; it was an affront to the natural justice of the universe.

And now he was back. He would never not carry the sea, but it had receded, he was solid and real and Eggsy was looking at him with wide eyes over his shoulder. Harry did a quick double take.

“Harry, are you all right?” His voice was thick with sleep.

“Yes.”

“Last night, that is, this morning, you were pretty bad. James said you did too much magic.”

“He was right.” Harry took a deep breath. “What time is it?” His mouth felt gritty and dirty and then he remembered why and tried not to feel ashamed about what Eggsy had seen him eat.

Eggsy picked up his watch that was lying on the bedside table. “About five thirty. I think we missed lunch.”

“Maybe we can have an early dinner,” he said absently, feeling as though he was standing beside himself, watching them having a normal conversation.

They looked at each other and Eggsy seemed to notice at the same time he did that they were still in bed together and he looked away and ran his hand over his hair and said he needed to get up and Harry agreed before he'd finished speaking.

Harry didn't flee to the bathroom; that would be undignified and he certainly wasn't that strongly affected by how easily he accepted waking up next to Eggsy. But he was very thirsty and he wanted to brush his teeth as well, and his reflection last night had seemed worryingly insubstantial and he wanted to make sure it had returned to normal.

By the time he'd done all these things, Eggsy had gotten dressed and had twitched the curtains aside to stare out the window.

“It's still raining,” he said.

“Please don't ask me to make it stop,” Harry said.

He meant it to be a joke, but Eggsy didn't seem to find it funny. “'Course not. I'm gonna find James and Percy. Make sure they're decent for dinner. We'll meet you downstairs, yeah?”

“Of course.”

Eggsy fled.

Harry didn't blame him.

Many times in Harry's life, the act of putting on his suit had served to put himself together; no matter what sort of mush he was on the inside, he could face the world without flinching. It didn't quite work this time; the bed was all rumpled, and he knew if put his hand in the blankets they'd still be warm. He kept glancing at it in the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door.

He practically slammed it shut when he finished knotting his tie.

Harry found his companions in the dining room, at the same table they'd eaten at that morning, looking at the menus.

“Ah, the dragon slayer,” James said, when Harry approached.

“Eggsy did the slaying,” Harry said, and saw Eggsy grin proudly out of the corner of his eye.

“You look a lot better, which is frankly amazing. You were so highly charged I think ordinary old magnets would have started sticking to you,” James said. “And I think I was wrong, earlier.”

“Oh?”

“I told Eggsy you'd been reckless as usual, doing vast amounts of magic without a mask, but you have a mask. An excellent one.”

“What's a mask?” Eggsy asked.

“It could be almost anything but it acts like a lightning rod on a house. It directs harmful things away from the practitioner, and Eggsy is yours. He's brilliant.”

“If Eggsy is in danger-”

“That's the beauty of it. You two have the same name; you overlap in a way. But Eggsy isn't a wizard and so he's not sensitive to this sort of thing at all. He feels nothing, but given the speed of your recovery, I'd say you should thank him for bearing so much of the backlash. And me, of course, for putting you two in such close proximity.”

“James,” Percival murmured reprovingly.

“Any time, Harry,” Eggsy said, before he could say a word.

“I see,” Harry said warily. A change of subject was overdue. “Did you speak to Merlin?”

“I did. As we suspected Arthur's found out what happened and has gone on the defensive. He's shut down the network and has left HQ, taking the ghosts with him.”

“Where did he go?” Eggsy asked.

“Salisbury Plain,” James said. “I haven't told Merlin anything; I thought it would be best we reconvene first. As it is, all the other wizards are overseas, guarding their successors. Aside from Merlin himself, we're the only Kingsmen in the country, at least on this side of the deep blue sea.”

“So trying to convince them that Chester's rotten isn't gonna help us,” Eggsy said. “What's at Salisbury Plain?”

“Excalibur,” James said.

“The sword?” Harry asked.

“Yes.”

“What does it do?” Eggsy asked.

“Cuts things? I don't know, exactly.”

“Killing the dragon's made him desperate,” Percival said. “And the longer this stalemate goes on, the more likely Merlin, that is, the Merlin we know, Eggsy, will take up the mantle of Arthur simply because someone has to.”

“Merlin's staying at the mansion,” Eggsy said. “And Roxy's looking after him.”

“The mansion's pretty safe from magical attack,” James said. “Chester couldn't attack it unaided and hope to breach its defences.”

“What about with Excalibur?” Harry asked. “And ghosts.”

“That's a different matter,” James conceded.

“We shouldn't take the risk,” Percival said. “We can't let him get that far.”

“Well if we're going to have a magical firefight, Salisbury Plain is a safe place to have it,” James said.

“We don't have any time to spare,” Harry said. “The network's down; we'll have to travel like normal people.”

Eggsy sighed and put down his menu, “I just figured out what I was gonna order, too.”

“At least we're not going to run short on weapons,” James said, as he and Percival tried to arrange themselves in the back seat as comfortably as possible. They'd checked out in record time and Eggsy had gone across the street to get them something they could eat on the road. The rain had all but stopped, although the skies remained the colour of slate.

“Eggsy drives,” Harry said when he returned.

“He's right,” Percival said at James' surprised look. “Galahad the Younger's got talent in that area.”

Eggsy beamed as Harry handed over the keys again.

“Floor it Eggsy,” James said. “The whole damn way. We'll keep the police off.”

Even so, they had hours of driving ahead of them, and Harry wasn't sure they'd make it in time. Eggsy gave it his best though, while James gave Percival basic magical instruction in the back seat, Eggsy drove with fierce concentration and an utter lack of fear.

Harry stayed quiet as they tore ahead of evening traffic, paying no regard to speed cameras or the indignation of other drivers. He divided his time between reading his spellbook and watching Eggsy drive, quietly admiring him and the way he flung the Jag around in traffic, despite the car's size and heavy load.

Eggsy's aggressive driving style chewed though their fuel quickly despite the Jag's large tank and when they stopped for more Eggsy sagged in the seat.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked.

“First long distance chase I've ever been in. Top Gear made it look easy, you know?”

“Do you want to swap for a while?”

Harry wasn't expecting Eggsy to say yes; driving was something he did better than Harry himself, probably, but he thought about it for a minute and nodded. “Gotta pace myself, right? Besides, I haven't really seen you drive yet.” A smile stole across his face.

Flashing blue lights appeared in the rear vision mirror several times during the course of their journey, and either Harry himself or James would wind down the window, the cold air making everyone sit up and shiver as they breathed curses into the slipstream.

Their intensely focused flight had them arriving at Salisbury Plain well before dawn. James directed them to the restricted area, and they ignored the signs warning of unexploded ordinance and tank crossings as they drove onto army land, the barbed wire defences no barrier to a car full of Kingsmen.

“I thought we were goin' to Stonehenge,” Eggsy said. “I've never been there before.”

“Stonehenge is out of bounds for Kingsmen,” James said darkly. “It belongs to a different kingdom, and one with which the treaties must be observed.”

Eggsy caught Harry's eye but he could only shrug.

James told them to stop in a nondescript sort of field. Eggsy had driven across wheel marks and the imprint of tank treads but when they halted there were no signs of anything resembling human activity, military or otherwise.

James asked for the map in the glove compartment and studied it for a while before giving further directions.

“I don't think we can get too much closer without alerting Chester,” he said. “Everybody out.”

James and Percival looked a bit worse for wear; rocket launchers do not make particularly comfortable seats and the walked around wincing and stretching their legs.

“Excalibur is in a barrow about half a mile that way,” James said. “I think.”

Percival opened the boot of the Jag and started taking inventory of the weapons.

“I really don't know that they're going to help, Percy,” James said.

Percival ignored him.

Now he was feeling human enough to appreciate it, Harry was glad to see them back together. When they'd both been alive they'd kept whatever their relationship was almost entirely secret, but death changed everyone and even if they'd greeted each other with only a handshake, Harry could see how close they were.

He glanced at Eggsy, who'd wrapped his arms around his own shoulders to keep warm and was muttering about telling Merlin put metal detectors in their shoes and felt a wave of something unspeakably painful. Eggsy shouldn't be here; he was no wizard, but Harry knew he couldn't possibly convince him to leave.

Didn't want him to leave.

Eggsy caught him looking and stepped a bit closer.

“There's something in the air!” Percival said with alarm. “Getting closer.”

Percival was fresh out of the sea and still raw to it, but a minute or two later Harry could feel it too, high above them, moving impossibly fast. The clouds boiled and thickened and the air seemed to crackle with static.

All four of them had reached for various weapons, but there was nothing to aim at.

And then they ducked for cover as the sky split and a jagged streak of lightning stabbed into the ground some distance away, the smell of ozone burned in the air and their ears rang with the thunderous aftershock that sounded like a woman's laughter.

When Harry raised his head, he saw something stir in the smouldering crater.


	25. Chapter 25

Where the lighting had struck the ground steamed gently and the grass had been scorched away by the strike. And in the centre of this blasted circle a man struggled to his feet, propping himself up clumsily on an umbrella.

He held a handkerchief to his nose, which was bleeding freely, and the four of them stared at him for a few moments.

It wasn't Chester, at least.

“Tristan!” James exclaimed and that seemed to break the spell and the four of them clustered around to help the elder Kingsman to his feet. Harry could see melting frost on his jacket, and when he took his arm it was icy to the touch.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“She slung me right across the Atlantic,” Tristan said, his voice a bit muffled by the handkerchief. “Most unpleasant, but she did warn me. She'll have a hell of a headache. I know I do. I swear I'll never complain about airline food again.”

“Letizia didn't toss you out the window after all,” Eggsy said, delighted.

“Of course not; she knows we can skystride. Kingsman always land on their feet, but she wanted to misdirect you.”

“Did she take your heart?” Eggsy asked.

“ _What?”_ Harry asked, aghast.

Eggsy met his eyes and coloured a little, shaking his head. “It's fine, Harry. She didn't ask for nothing from me.”

“No, she didn't mention a heart,” Tristan said with a faint smile. Once he was out of the crater, he managed to stand on his own two feet, still dabbing at his nose.

“What did she mention then?” James asked, looking very wary.

Tristan sighed. “I traded my life for an unspecified favour, to be collected from Kingsman as a whole at some unspecified point in the future.”

“You handed her a blank cheque!”

“I was not negotiating from a position of strength,” Tristan snapped back. “I would have been prepared to die but Letizia made a strong argument in favour of my remaining alive to help you salvage what is left of our entire operation.”

James looked like he was going to argue further and then he heaved a sigh and wiped a hand across his forehead.

“You're right of course. I apologise.”

“Besides,” Eggsy interjected. “It won't be so bad. Letizia likes us. Well, me and Harry anyway.”

“We'll have you gift wrapped,” James said wryly. “It is good to have you back,” he told Tristan. “Can we get you anything? You look awful.”

Tristan said he'd rather like a cup of tea and something to eat and while they couldn't help him with the former they managed to unearth some uneaten chocolate from the detritus that had collected in Harry's car over the course of the night and Tristan wolfed it down as fast as was polite along with half a bottle of water; no one could remember who it belonged to. He'd looked sick and shaky when he'd arrived, but the sugar put a bit of colour in his cheeks and his nose had stopped bleeding.

“We could really use your advice as to what the hell we should do now,” James said. “It's been less than a year since my own death; I haven't really been enjoying my role as a senior agent.”

Tristan shook his head. “Betraying our king because he betrayed us. How has it come to this?”

A rather depressed silence fell.

“Perhaps,” Harry spoke up. “Perhaps we should have seen this coming. Perhaps some of us did,” he glanced at Percival. “Before all this mess happened, I told Arthur we needed to change as the world was changing around us. If we succeed today, we will be without a king. We will be vulnerable, but there's an opportunity here as well. A hundred-odd years ago, the Kingsmen were modern wizards, and knights, but no provision was made for change. We are modern no more and we are paying the price.”

“What are you suggesting, Galahad?” Tristan asked.

“I don't know. Or rather, I'm suggesting we take the time to ask ourselves these questions. All of us, those who survive. I think the ritual is probably necessary, but we are a bit too careless with each other's lives, and our own.” He looked at them, now that he could see them in the grainy light of false dawn. Maybe they didn't have time for this, but he wanted to say it in case he didn't make it back.

He looked at Eggsy last. He had his back to the side of the car, hands in his pockets, listening intently with a slightly worried look. So young, so strong; he looked impossible to ruin, but if Harry had learned anything it was that one could be a Kingsman for a long, long time.

“We take it for granted that Kingsman is worth dying for, we tell ourselves over and over that it is, and it's made us hollow. We need to prove that it's worth dying for. Starting today.”

“We will,” Tristan said.

Percival nodded and James clapped him on the back. Eggsy didn't say anything. Harry honestly wasn't convinced Eggsy had ever been prepared to die for Kingsman; he didn't take well to authority, but Eggsy's loyalty to his comrades was unshakable. It was _they,_ and Harry himself, he'd been prepared to die for.

“Before I forget,” Tristan said. “And I'm sure it would go badly for me if I did, I have a message Letizia wanted me to pass on to Eggsy, 'I'm reserving judgement until I see what you do with it.'”

“I see,” Harry said, not entirely sure what to make of Letizia's message.

Eggsy seemed to get it though. He grinned rather sheepishly and muttered that it was “Good of her.” Harry waited a beat but Eggsy didn't seem moved to explain further.

“I suppose she'll be sticking her oar in all the time now,” James said glumly.

“Be that as it may,” Percival said. “The sun will be up soon. We need a plan. Assuming Chester is still here.”

“He will be,” Tristan said. “Excalibur is not a weapon of darkness. Its powers are manifest during the day.”

“What exactly are its powers?” Harry asked.

“We'll find out, I expect,” Tristan said. “No one's drawn it since World War Two and accounts of what happened then are a bit confusing. Then-Arthur was a fighter pilot and he took the sword into dogfights but it was never clear what he did with it.”

“Shame he didn't write it down. Now I see why Merlin's so anal about paperwork,” Eggsy said.

“Right, so he's got the sword,” James said. “Also ghosts.”

“I'll take care of them,” Tristan said.

“What, all of them? Merlin says he's summoned the lot. That's at least half a dozen.”

Tristan smiled mildly, “It will be fine, Lancelot, but I will need to borrow the car. I'm going to Imber. It's a perfect ghost trap.”

“What's Imber?” Eggsy asked.

“It's a town,” Tristan said. “Or was. It was forcibly evacuated and taken over by the army during the war for use in training soldiers in urban combat. The village still stands, and they even hold open days, but it isn't quite real any more. Ghosts are not quite real themselves and are drawn to those sorts of places. I can lay a trail of breadcrumbs, as it were, that they won't be able to resist.”

“Then the rest of us have to walk,” Percival said. “Help me unload the weapons.”

“Percy I'm really not sure they'll be helpful.”

“I'll feel a lot happier if we take 'em,” Eggsy said, and that seemed to be the end of it.

Harry went up to Tristan while the others started unloading and retailed what Letizia had said about Eggsy.

“Is she right? Does it have to be him?”

“Not necessarily. You have the same name; you can become him to the point where it will fool some of Arthur's wards.”

“A mask,” Harry said. “But will that be enough?”

“I don't know. Kingsmen have tried to avoid killing royalty for just these reasons.”

“Eggsy doesn't stand a chance against Chester's magic. He'll kill him. And he must know we're coming.” Harry frowned. “Earlier,” he said slowly. “Eggsy acted as my mask.”

“I can see how that might work,” Tristan said.

“Could I act as his? Deflect Chester's magic onto myself? My blood affords me some protection that his does not.”

Tristan looked a bit startled, and thought about it a bit. “I suppose so. Use your common name to refer to yourselves and each other. It's not going to be perfect though; you can't protect him entirely.”

Harry knew that. He thanked Tristan for his advice and went to talk to Eggsy.

Eggsy seemed equally keen to talk to him, meeting him halfway and standing a little distance from the others.

Harry recognised the stubborn set of Eggsy's jaw.

“I'm going to fight Chester,” he said.

“Yes. You're our best chance.”

“Oh.” That took the wind out of his sails a bit. “I thought you were going to argue.”

“Galahad,” Harry said, and explained his plan. “If nothing else it will get us both in; where one fails the other might succeed.”

“Harry, sorry, Galahad,” Eggsy said miserably. “If I fail, _you die_. It's not fair.” Eggsy knew life wasn't fair and said it matter-of-factly, looking off to the side. “I can't even die for you,” he muttered and it was like a blade to the heart.

“Oh, Eggsy.” Harry didn't _want_ Eggsy to die for him. It made no sense, it was the wrong way around and there was nothing he could do about it.

“You mean Galahad,” he said with a faint smile.

“Listen to me. I chose to help you complete the ritual. A Kingsman faces the possibility of sudden death every time he goes to work and I knew this and I made my choice anyway. I wanted to give you the second chance I was given. If you die, and this may be a lost cause, but I don't want you to feel guilty. What happens to me happens to all of us in the end and it was my decision, not yours. I am proud of you, and I know you'll go on to do great things and I do not begrudge you a minute of the second life that you may lead.”

Eggsy nodded. “I'll do my best,” he said.

They'd parted so badly last time, Harry thought it was enough that they'd been given the chance to mend things. To say what they wanted to say. He hadn't forgotten how he'd found Eggsy, still mourning him after months had passed.

He didn't intend to die today, but he had the feeling that someone would. Maybe it would be Chester, maybe not.

He clasped Eggsy on the shoulder and smiled.

“Good.” They'd known each other less than a year, but they'd changed the shape of their lives; Eggsy probably couldn't see how he'd changed Harry's, and Harry didn't think he'd be able to explain. Not without a couple of hours and a pen and paper at least.

A smile would have to do.

He stepped away and Eggsy caught his arm.

“Um. Harry. Well, shit.” He pulled his hand back like he'd been burned. “I was kinda, you know, putting it off until all of this was done but if you fucking die on me-” He was rambling, biting his lip and scowling and flexing his fingers.

“Are you all right?”

“No. Yes. Just listen, all right?”

Harry glanced at the other three, but Tristan was explaining something to Percival while James nodded along—magic lessons probably—and they were politely paying them no attention.

Harry turned his attention the Eggsy.

“I'm listening,” he said.

“Okay, so.” Deep breath. Eggsy looked up at him like he was some sort of unscalable mountain, eyes wide. Then he looked at his feet and said something about the shoes getting wet. Then he ran his hand over his face and looked up at Harry again.

“Aw, sod it.”

Harry realised Eggsy wasn't meeting his eyes so much as staring at his mouth and Harry wasn't surprised, wasn't anything but waiting for it, as Eggsy stepped into his personal space and leaned up and pressed his lips to Harry's mouth. His lips were cold and dry from the morning chill, and he smelled like the interior of the Jag and he didn't lay so much as a finger on Harry, only his lips.

Eggsy didn't give him time to react, Harry felt the wash of warm breath from Eggsy's nose across his cheek and then he was stepping away again, looking down, looking back up again, waiting for a response.

Harry exhaled, feeling the warmth on his lips fade almost instantly. He was aware, peripherally, that the conversation around the jag had intensified as the other three tried even harder not to notice what was going on in their little corner of the world.

“We don't have time to argue about this,” Harry said. So he didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Imber](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imber) is a real place, in case you were wondering.


	26. Chapter 26

Eggsy was kicking himself. He'd had one chance to snog the daylights out of Harry and he'd ballsed it up. It had been enough to nerve himself up and kiss him in the first place, but it had been an easier option that actually telling him how much he wanted to. _Like_ sounded juvenile, _love_ sounded...

Too much.

Harry hadn't really reacted, but Eggsy hadn't given him time to. And now he just stared at him, looking mildly surprised. But not _that_ surprised, really.

“We don't have time to argue about this,” he said, and Eggsy thought that was it, he really did, just for a moment.

Harry reached for him, one hand to the small of his back and the other cupping the back of his head and Eggsy thought _oh_ and he tilted his head up and closed his eyes and Harry kissed him. He pressed himself to Harry's body, like he had wanted to the first time he'd found himself in his arms and looped his arms around Harry's neck and for a little while just let himself be kissed.

He'd forgotten about the others, he'd even forgotten where they were and what they were doing. He parted his lips and Harry accepted the invitation, tasting of nothing, but warm and hungry and clever, flicking his tongue across Eggsy's front teeth, dipping past them, his own teeth at Eggsy's lips, making them sting, then soothing them. Eggsy's head and shoulders were tilted back, he felt slightly off-balance, but Harry had his hand on his back, wouldn't let him fall, even if his legs were starting to shake. He'd been holding his breath, and once he noticed he exhaled sharply through his nose, the cold morning air stinging his sinuses as he filled his lungs desperately.

Eggsy was happy to take, to take anything that Harry wanted to give him, endlessly greedy, his hands in Harry's hair and fighting the urge to wrap a leg around his hips; they probably _would_ fall over if he tried that. And then he remembered that this might be all they would get.

So Eggsy kissed him back, and he could feel Harry respond, his stance changing slightly, a soft sound of pleased surprise as Eggsy stopped merely moving his lips and pushed back against Harry's tongue. Harry sucked gently and Eggsy nearly choked and retreated and Harry chased him back. He could feel him smile.

He put everything he had into it, but when they finally broke apart they were barely moving, just feeling each other's breath.

“I'm too old for you,” Harry said, releasing him.

Eggsy raised an eyebrow. “Harry, if you kiss someone and make stupid objections afterwards it looks like you ain't being honest.” He still had his arms around Harry's neck and he lowered them slowly, pointlessly smoothing Harry's collar as he did so. “Besides. You're not getting any older and I am. Hang around and I'll catch up to you, yeah?” He looked into Harry's eyes.

“I'll try,” he said, and Eggsy knew it was the best either of them could do.

And then he remembered why they were standing in Salisbury Plain in the early hours of the morning and that they were not alone, and he felt his face get hot as he stepped away.

“Right then,” he cleared his throat, his lips still tingling. He checked his watch, “Should we get moving?”

“We're all ready to go,” James said.

Indeed they were. Percival had selected which weapons he thought were the most useful and after they shook Tristan's hand and wished him luck, the four of them slung them over their shoulders.

Tristan left them the map and drove off in the Jag while the rest of them started to march to the barrow in which the legendary sword was supposedly housed.

No one said much, other than to pass on warnings about hazards in the terrain. Luckily they weren't in an area sewn with mines. Percival said he expected the army had avoided damaging the area around the barrow too much for archaeological reasons.

They tromped over the dew-soaked ground, their shoes and trousers getting wet and muddy in the process. Eggsy focused on Harry's back, and considered how little had changed between them, really. It was more like they had acknowledged something they both already knew. Still brilliant though.

The first thing they saw were half a dozen pale lights shimmering on the plain ahead of them. As soon as they came into view the group stopped and conferred in whispers. As they waited for Tristan to make his move, the sky grew lighter, and the stars paled and vanished. Eggsy could now easily make out the large mound of grassy earth that was the barrow.

There looked to be a doorway cut into the side of it, the appearance of which reminded him uncomfortably of a freshly-dug grave. The ghosts were little more than wisps of light shimmering on the edge of vision as the light strengthened, but they were not the only guards Chester had stationed.

“That is what Tristan fought outside your house, Percival,” Harry said.

Eggsy's respect for Tristan grew immeasurably. The things reminded him of gorillas in the way they strolled about on all fours, but they were each as big as a double-decker bus, and he could see their limbs and backs bristling with broken military equipment, the barrel of a tank gun acting as a spine, caterpillar treads defining a torso of rocks and soil.

Percival merely narrowed his eyes and set up the rifle, lying flat heedless of the wet grass and cold earth.

The sun had lit the undersides of the clouds when the ghosts left. As one they flickered, and then darted away at great speed, like dragonflies skimming over the surface of pond. Within moments, they were gone.

Well done Tristan, Eggsy thought.

“What are we going to do about those things?” Eggsy asked.

Percival pulled the trigger. The crack of the shot was quickly followed by the _whoomph_ of the incendiary igniting on the shoulder of one of the creatures. The explosive round punched a crater in the thing, and as it lumbered around to face them one of its arms fell off, disintegrating as it landed on the ground.

The others were turning too, and Percival fired again, aiming at the limbs.

“I shouldn't have doubted you,” James said, planting the mortar he'd been carrying in the ground and plugging his ears as he fired it.

The creatures were surprisingly fast for their size, and apparently smart enough to try and avoid getting hit. They couldn't avoid Percival's rifle but the others didn't always hit their weak points.

“Galahads!” James called. “You two go in. I'll run interference and Percy can pick them apart. We won't be able to make it past Chester's wards anyway.”

“Understood,” Harry said. “Good luck.”

They left the heavy weapons with Percival and ran. Harry drew his blade but didn't try and use it. Eggsy saw no point in drawing his guns and concentrated on running, and not looking too closely at the monstrosities closing in to intercept them. James went with them, but then peeled off, trying to draw the attention of some of the things. When one attacked him he ducked and sliced at it with his blade, but it didn't make much of an impact.

Percival fired over their shoulders and Eggsy felt the wash of heat as the projectile impacted and they swerved to the side to avoid the creature it had struck.

Eggsy was faster than Harry and he drew ahead, aiming straight for the barrow and practically hurling himself in through the earthen doorway. He stumbled on the stone steps he found inside and drew his guns before turning to watch Harry's progress. He was almost at the doorway when he seemed to rebound off an invisible wall.

“Galahad!” Eggsy shouted and darted out again. One of the creatures, trailing smoke and shedding bits of what looked like a jeep raised its arms above them both, fists bristling with rocks and mines.

Eggsy wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders and heaved him forward as the fists came down.

They staggered through the doorway in a rain of soil.

“Shit,” Harry said, brushing it off his suit. “Letizia was right. It's you that can make it through the wards; this mask isn't good enough.”

“I thought you said I was gonna fight Chester anyway.”

“I still had some hope it wouldn't be necessary.”

Eggsy frowned but didn't say anything. Instead he peered down into the passageway before them. No sounds escaped from under the earth.

“Galahad,” Harry said. He took off his glasses. “It's not much of a mask; they're only designed to fool CCTV, but it's better than nothing.” He settled them on Eggsy's face, the frames warm from Harry's skin.

For a moment Eggsy thought he was going to kiss him again but Harry only smiled, and touched his cheek.

“Good luck. I will try and draw his magic. The rest, I fear, is up to you.”

“Let's do this,” Eggsy said.

The first few steps were of stone, but beyond it they were packed earth, and not very even. It was quite dark, and they felt their way down, hands against the earthen wall

At some point Eggsy said he thought there was light ahead and soon Harry noticed it too. A bit further on and they reached their destination. They found Arthur.

The cavern at the bottom of the barrow offered little in the way of strategic features. It was large and roughly circular, and somehow sunlight filtered down through the rocks above, enough to see by but not enough to provide any warmth.

The cavern was empty save for a single standing stone in the centre. Eggsy had always imagined Excalibur sticking out the top of a rock, but this one was at least twice the height of a man, and as thick as an oak.

Standing beside it, in his suit, was Chester. His umbrella was leaning against the stone, and in his hand was a long steel sword.

To Eggsy, who had grown up with computer games and comic books, it didn't look anything special, it didn't glow or sing, but nevertheless his heart beat faster just looking at it and he gritted his teeth to see it in Chester's hand.

He must have heard them coming, because he was looking right at them as they watched him from the passageway.

Harry stepped forward, his jaw set.

“I am so disappointed, Chester.”

“I dare say you are. But you were right, Harry, we do need to change. Our most important work is done here, on this side of the sea, and yet we wait until we are old to do it! I envy you for having died so young. I knew—I knew when I was fifty! But I didn't quite believe; couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger and find out for certain.” He scowled bitterly.

“This is what it's about? Growing old?” Eggsy asked.

“And you,” Chester glared at Eggsy. “You could have that body forever, if you chose. Never aging a day; rearranging the universe as you see fit.”

“I would never-”

“I know. 'I'd rather be with 'Arry,'” he mocked. Eggsy scowled because yeah, he'd already swapped the drinks when he'd said it, but even so he'd fucking _meant_ it. Chester seemed not to notice. “Well now you will get your wish, and I'm sorry it has come to this, Harry. Truthfully, I am. But you,” he looked at Eggsy again. “I'm going to enjoy killing you twice.”

Eggsy raised his gun and fired.

The gun went off; the noise, the recoil, were all there, and Eggsy's scores were excellent; he knew he wouldn't miss, but Chester barely flinched, and the bullet went nowhere. Not between Chester's eyes like it should have, not thumping into the earthen wall or pinging off the rock in the centre of the room. Just gone.

Eggsy fired a couple more times, just to make sure and Chester scowled.

“Enough of that noise, this is a hallowed place,” he said, and Eggsy yelped in fright as his gun grew spidery legs and tried to grip onto his hand. He flung the weapon across the room and it scuttled into the corner with a metallic sort of clinking.

Eggsy realised Harry's blade had started to run red.

“My turn,” Chester said, and he lifted Excalibur over his head.


	27. Chapter 27

Harry was moving, running forward and Eggsy ran with him instinctively, hoping to prevent Chester doing whatever he intended to.

They were halfway across the cavern when the sword caught the light. It shouldn't have; there was hardly any light down here, so early in the day and so far underground, but Eggsy flinched, shielding his eyes as Excalibur flared like the sun, the after-image burned across the inside of his eyelids.

He could feel the glasses on his face, burning the bridge of his nose and singeing the hair above his ears, and every instinct he had told him the paw the searing hot object off his face.

He resisted.

“Harry!”

“Shit!” Eggsy nearly collided with Harry as he stumbled, his free hand going to his eyes. Eggys blinked away tears, still trying to shield himself from the impossible light, and grabbed Harry's shoulder.

Harry turned to him, slightly, but didn't look at him. Slowly he lowered his arm, despite the glare.

“Did it stop? I can't see,” he said. “Can you?”

“Yeah,” Eggsy said. “I can.” He could feel something running down his cheek, blood or broken blisters, and he wondered if he'd have a glasses-shaped scar on his face if he survived. But he refused to remove them as he stared at Harry's sightless eyes. Harry understood what had happened, Eggsy could see it on his face.

Harry held out his weapon. “Take my blade. It's bloodied.”

Eggsy did as he was bid, wrapping his fingers briefly over Harry's before Harry relinquished the weapon. Eggsy sprinted, closing the rest of the distance to Arthur blindly, but not as blind as Harry, who sunk to his knees on the floor behind him.

Eggsy lashed out, and finally Excalibur came down and the blinding light disappeared. The sword blocked Harry's blade with unnatural speed, but the light was off it and Eggsy could see again. He didn't know how to sword fight; it hadn't been something he'd been specifically trained in, but surely he could beat Chester.

Chester maybe, but Excalibur was something else. Wherever he attacked, it blocked, wherever he was open it sliced against him and he wished he had Gazelle's flexibility as he ducked and leaped backwards. Chester hardly had to do anything more than hold it.

Harry's blood was enough to keep the blade in one piece, but when he tried to draw a gun with his left hand Excalibur sliced it in half, the useless pieces clattering to the stone floor.

“You tried that already. None of your weapons are of the slightest use against me. All you have is borrowed blood, like the parasite you are,” Arthur said. He seemed to be enjoying this, a look of grim satisfaction on his face. “This is Excalibur! It cannot be beaten.” Chester raised his left hand, and spat something that sounded of twisted bones and frayed bits of string and a hole where there should have been a heart and Eggsy felt a chill in his chest-

And it passed by him, he felt it go.

Behind him, Harry said clearly, “I will not allow that.”

When Eggsy snatched a moment's glance at him, Harry was still on his knees, bloodied chalk in his hand, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration as he blindly drew on the floor.

“I see how it is. How disgusting,” Chester said, and tried something else.

Eggsy didn't try to dodge it, going on the attack as Chester spat at him, trusting Harry to turn aside whatever wickedness Chester was trying to work on him.

There was something like a pop and an electric smell and Chester staggered back in surprise. Eggsy saw an advantage and pushed it, Excalibur blocking, flawlessly blocking, as Chester regained his feet, bracing himself on the stone. Eggsy snarled in frustration, but the blade would not let him past.

Chester ignored him to address Harry. “Been studying counter-spells, have we? You always were a fantastic asset to us; one of our finest knights. I can only imagine what you could have accomplished as a wizard. Even now. I regret this, I want you to know that.”

Chester raised his hand and spoke at Harry, Excalibur shielding him from Eggsy's furious attacks. Harry was blown back against the side of the cavern, slammed into the earth, his chalk rolling away, his circles and countersigns abandoned.

Arthur bared his teeth, and Eggsy thought he might have been trying not to cry as he drew breath again, now Harry was disarmed, to finish him.

Eggsy couldn't let him speak, couldn't let him hurt Harry any further.

Excalibur parried, and Eggsy twisted himself into Chester's space, within the arc of that deadly blade, trusting Harry's blood to defend him long enough, and he drew the blade he had concealed at the small of his back, under his holsters, warmed by his skin, and lashed out, driving it into Chester's neck. Eggsy knew how to place a blade; right through Chester's windpipe, he felt the tip of the knife grate against the vertebrae in his neck and the old man's eyes widened in surprise.

Eggsy yanked it out again in a spray of blood, and Chester staggered forward, gasping, staring at the ordinary looking kitchen knife now coated in his own gore. He'd looked just like that the first time he'd died as well; surprised and utterly furious.

Eggsy gave him a small, vicious smile. It had been the last thing Gazelle had seen. Chester struck out with Excalibur but Eggsy darted back, waiting while Chester scrabbled at his own neck, struggling for air.

When his grip on Excalibur loosened, Eggsy put him out of his misery; Harry's blade right in the carotid artery and he toppled like a tree. Eggsy didn't stay to watch him fall.

“Harry! Are you all right?” He started running over.

“Fine,” Harry said. “I think. Just bruised. What happened?”

“He's dead.”

“Well done.” Harry got to his feet slowly, and carefully walked forward, a hand extended. “Are you all right, Eggsy?”

“You still can't see,” Eggsy said, horrified but grateful Harry couldn't see his expression. “You said you were fine. This isn't fine.”

“Well, that's the way it goes, sometimes.”

“Nah,” Eggsy said. “Nah fuck that.”

He strode back to the centre of the cavern, dropped Letizia's knife and picked up Excalibur.

Nothing happened. No lighting struck him, no voice from the heavens told him he wasn't worthy. The weapon was lighter than he expected, and felt warm and alive in his hand, the edge whispering through the air as he moved it. Good enough, Eggsy thought.

“Right you, I'm gonna fucking melt you down and have you turned into teaspoons if you don't fix him, you got it?”

“Eggsy what are you doing?” Harry walked closer, dragging his feet slightly so as not to trip.

Eggsy lifted the sword above his head, as he'd seen Chester do, trying to find the right angle, and Harry suddenly winced as a beam of light fell across his face. He put his hand up to block it and blinked.

“Eggsy?”

Eggsy lowered the sword, his heart full of hope. “Yeah?”

Harry frowned and looked at Chester's corpse and then at Eggsy, and a fond, proud smile curled his lips. “Good thinking.”

Eggsy grinned, striking a pose with the sword. “This means I'm king of England now, right? I always wanted to live at Buck Palace. Don't worry, I wouldn't make Her Majesty move out at her age. There's enough room for both of us.”

“Put it back, Eggsy,” Harry said with a long-suffering look.

Eggsy rather hoped the celebratory snog would come next so he didn't delay any further, approaching the stone. He circled around it once, but couldn't find any hole that Excalibur might have been pulled from. So he chose randomly and it made no difference, the stone yielded and then held fast. Eggsy gave Excalibur an experimental tug but it didn't budge.

Easy come, easy go. To be honest, being king might have been a bit more responsibility than he was really prepared for.

“What's this?” Harry asked, picking up the kitchen knife.

“I pinched it from Letizia,” Eggsy said. “Swapped it with one of the knives in her kitchen while she was getting bandaged up. It's killed one king and Tristan managed to wound her with it so I thought it might be useful.”

“That's what she meant by her message about withholding judgement. You stole it.”

“I kind of figured she'd notice sooner or later. I suppose we should give it back, although Tristan had it originally.”

“It might be a good idea. I don't think we want to piss her off and I suspect she considers it hers as spoils of war. I wonder how we came to have it in the first place.”

“Harry,” Eggsy walked up to him, overflowing with adrenaline and pride. He didn't care about Letizia or the knife right then. There was something more important right in front of him.

Harry's smile fell from his face as Eggsy stepped up to him. “Oh, Eggsy.”

“What?”

Harry raised his hands, and very, very gently, took his glasses off Eggsy's face. He winced sympathetically as Eggsy stifled a gasp of pain as the tortoiseshell peeled of his burned skin. He'd been so focused he'd stopped feeling it but now he thought about it it fucking hurt.

The glasses themselves looked slightly scorched, but were otherwise intact. Not just for fooling CCTV then, Eggsy thought.

“Is it bad?” he asked, as Harry gently turned his face one way then the other, his fingers on his chin.

“No,” Harry said eventually, with a relieved smile. “You might not want to wear glasses for a few days. You're lucky mine didn't fit you very well; you would have lost your eyebrows as well otherwise.” He met Eggsy's eyes. “Well done.”

Eggsy hugged him. Because he could, and he wanted to, and Harry hugged him back just as hard and Eggsy felt the fight drain out of him, and it started to sink in that they'd won. He rested his chin on Harry's shoulder and closed his eyes, concentrating on how it felt to have his body pressed against his own, how his arms wrapped around him and how right they felt. He felt his breathing slow to match Harry's.

“Is everyone unharmed?” James asked, his voice reverberating around the cavern and they separated, startled.

James and Percival entered the cavern, Percival still toting his rifle and James with his blade unsheathed.

“The creatures that were left just stopped moving and fell apart,” Percival said. “We took that to be a good sign.”

“No wards either,” James added.

“Arthur is dead,” Harry said. “The Kingsmen are without a king. And Eggsy needs first aid.”

Eggsy would have protested by the cool air bit into his skin where the glasses had rested and it stung.

“I took the first aid kit out of your car to fit more guns into it,” Eggsy confessed. “But I'll live.”

“Good choice,” Percival said.

The Kingsman gathered around Chester's corpse and examined Excalibur, although none of them touched it.

“We can't leave him down here,” James said. “He doesn't deserve to be down here for a start.”

“We need to seal the barrow again anyway,” Harry said. “We don't want a civilian wandering down here. We've given the newspapers enough headlines for one week.”

“Let's take him outside then,” James said. “And then we'll go and look for Tristan. Hopefully he's on his way back here by now and we'll meet him half way. It's about two miles to Imber according to the map he left us.”

Percival and Lancelot carried out Chester's corpse, and Eggsy took one last look at the sword in the stone before following them, and Harry, back up into the sunlight.

It looked like it was going to be a nice day, after all that rain. The ground smelled earthy and damp and James closed the door in the side of the hill; when he recited some words and waved his hands the passageway simply disappeared as if it had never been, the dew on the grass undisturbed save for their own footprints.

They left Chester near the barrow, shouldered their weapons, and started trudging towards Imber in the pale morning sun. Eggsy realised he didn't have a clue what day it was; his phone had gone dead soon after he'd returned to England, and his watch told him only that it was nearly nine in the morning.

But it didn't matter so much. The sunlight gleamed off the silver strands in Harry's hair, and they plodded on side-by-side, too tired and hungry to say much, and really, there wasn't much to say. But they'd catch each other's eye sometimes, and every time Harry would smile and Eggsy would grin.

For the first time in a long time, possibly since Harry had wished him well on the morning of his final Kingsman test, Eggsy felt like everything was going to be okay. Better than okay.


	28. Chapter 28

Imber was an odd place. It was smaller than Eggsy expected for a start, no more than a couple of dozen buildings clustered roughly along a main street. There was a church as well, complete with graveyard. The buildings were empty shells; no doors in the frames, no glass in the windows, and all impacted with bullet holes. There were no gardens, no litter. There was barbed wire strung about and hung with warnings, but it had been so long since anyone had obviously lived here it was melancholy rather than alarming, and oddly peaceful.

Harry's Jag was parked in the middle of the town, looking as out of place as an alien mothership.

“Tristan?” James called, but no one answered him.

When they reached the Jag they found out why. Tristan was lying on the ground a little way away, a peaceful expression on his face, and clearly quite dead. Harry knelt and checked his pulse anyway. There was no indication as to what might have killed him.

“He's holding something,” Percival said. Harry prised a little notebook from Tristan's cold hand and passed it to James, who opened it up on the last page.

“'My dear friends,'” he began. “'If you're reading this then I trust our venture has been successful. Although the ghosts I was here to lay are but echoes of the men who once lived, it feels unjust to destroy them; they are only doing their duty. Thus, I have decided not to battle them, but to lead them on to give them the peace they deserve after so many long years of service.”

“'When you have lived as long as I have, you start to realise the only question you can ask yourself is whether you did what you could. I believe I have. I know there may be hard times ahead for us, but I believe we will be the better for it; stronger and truer to ourselves.”

“'I'm sorry I cannot be there to see it, but when you've lived as long as I have, you also come to realise that the sea is warm, and that blue is the most beautiful colour.”

“'Yours in perpetuity, Isaac (Tristan)'”

Eggsy was watching Harry, and he saw him make the by now familiar gesture, placing his hand over his heart, feeling the beat in his chest, but rather than pained or scared he just looked thoughtful.

“How old _was_ he?” Eggsy asked.

“I'm not really sure,” James said. “Over a hundred, certainly.”

They were silent for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.

“What do we do now?” Eggsy asked.

“Merlin must be informed,” James said. “The network must be reopened and the other knights brought in for what will undoubtedly be a lively debate. We all need to discuss what Chester did openly. And not least, we need to work out what to do about Eggsy.”

“I was actually wondering more how we were gonna fit everything in the car,” Eggsy said. “Like, we got two corpses now as well as all these guns.”

The wizards held a brief discussion, while Eggsy looked at Tristan's peaceful face and wondered if he'd ever live long enough to decide it was time to stop. Would Harry? No. He couldn't picture Harry going quietly like that; it wouldn't even occur to him. Self-sacrifice for others, yes, but not because he'd simply had enough. He remembered Tristan closing his eyes while Letizia held a blade at his neck, and wondered just how long he'd been waiting to die.

He was startled from his reverie by Harry's voice saying, “I can sit on someone's lap.” His expression must have been interesting because James was definitely trying not to laugh at it.

“I think we have a volunteer,” Percival said mildly.

“I don't know what I expected, really,” Eggsy said a little while later. His was the lap Harry was indeed sitting on, but it was in the quite adorable but completely unarousing form of Mr Pickle that he did so.

After consulting Harry's spellbook the wizards had piled up the guns and apparently concealed them, although they looked completely obvious to Eggsy. James assured him that it was normal; he saw the guns because he knew they were there. If he didn't, he wouldn't.

Eggsy decided it didn't matter either way. What were a few extra guns on Salisbury Plain? If the army found them they'd worry about where they came from, but at least they'd know how to handle them safely.

Percival was driving and James was sharing the back seat with Tristan's corpse, which looked unnervingly lifelike sitting up and strapped in like that. The boot was reserved for Chester.

Percival had been very impressed with Harry's transformation, and kept glancing at him. Which was a bit annoying because Eggsy wanted nothing more than to cuddle him and scratch behind his ears because it was dawning on him, a bit belatedly after all the fighting and walking and discovering of corpses, that Eggsy and Harry was a thing now.

A real thing.

And he wanted to smile and sing and kiss the top of Harry's head the way he kissed the top of JB's head when no one was watching, and when Harry was back to his proper shape he wanted to kiss a lot else of him besides. Instead he rubbed his thumb through Harry's fur, and felt the rise and fall of his tiny chest. Harry had stood up for a little while but then curled up in Eggsy's lap, his head on his paws, and Eggsy's hand wrapped loosely around him so he wouldn't fall should they have to stop suddenly.

James talked into his mirror and someone called Merlin talked out of it, and this Merlin seemed rather unhappy about the events of the morning, and every so often Percival would shake his head and say, “So no one's in charge now,” like he expected someone to contradict him.

No one did.

Harry seemed quite cheerful about it. James didn't look too worried either, and it occurred to Eggsy for the first time that these blokes might be a hell of a lot of fun to hang out with on their days off. There was something waggish about them; like they were all skipping school and getting away with it.

“If it weren't for those meddling kids and their dog,” Eggsy murmured as they got out to retrieve Chester.

“I heard that,” Harry said. He sounded amused.

They took the A303 to Amesbury and discovered that the travel agency was open. The wizards decided it might be best that Eggsy not accompany them inside, and Eggsy didn't mind at all.

“I'm going to pop over to the chemists and see if they've got anything for my face,” he said. Harry said that was a good idea.

Eggsy bought burn cream and condoms and Astroglide and he didn't give a fuck what the cashier thought. Actually, he was starting to give less of a fuck about anything other than finding a bed and dragging Harry into it and even if all they did in it was sleep that would be fine with him. He added things up and decided he'd gotten about eight hours sleep in the past three days. No wonder he was starting to feel like the rest of the world was behind a pane of glass.

He leant against the Jag and nodded off for about ten minutes until Harry emerged from the travel agency, alone. His suit wasn't rumpled exactly, but Eggsy could tell he'd been wearing it for twenty-four hours, his hair had long since fallen out of its style, and his jaw was shaded with stubble.

He's perfect, Eggsy thought, watching him stride up. Perfect and mine.

“They didn't lock you up then?” Eggsy asked.

“I got the impression Merlin wanted to, but innocent until proven guilty and all that. James is going to make our case,” he said. “I believe the phrase is 'Don't leave town.' Percival needs to visit HQ for his debriefing and orientation, which will take a day and a half at least.”

“What about us?” Eggsy asked. He didn't mean the question as seriously as it sounded, and Harry raised his eyebrows. “I mean, what do we do now?”

“They'll contact us when we are required. In the meantime, would you like to come home with me, Eggsy?”

“Yes, Harry. I'd love to.”

Harry said his home wasn't that far, and even though he hadn't eaten anything that day, Eggsy was very, very tired of services sandwiches and chips, and Harry said he felt similarly so they simply got in the Jag and drove off.

“There's bound to be something edible in the fridge.”

“You're gonna cook for me?” Eggsy asked with a grin. Now there was no one in the back seat he'd tilted his own all the way back, and watched Harry drive.

“I'm going to try.”

Harry drove them to an incredibly quaint little cottage a mile or as the crow flies (and considerably longer as the Jag drives) outside a picturesque village. The garden was rather ill-kept, but the house itself was in good repair. Harry parked the Jag outside the garage and they got out, carrying their bags.

“Very nice,” Eggsy said.

“Home sweet home,” Harry said, with less enthusiasm. He unlocked the front door and told Eggsy to make himself at home as he collected the newspapers on the mat. The interior of the cottage matched the exterior; old furniture and flower patterned wallpaper. Eggsy set his bag down in the living room in front of the cold fireplace and looked about.

He heard Harry shut the front door and follow him in.

“It's not really you, is it?” Eggsy asked.

“No. But this is what they gave me.”

Eggsy frowned. “But it's yours now, innit? Like, properly yours until you drop off the twig, right?”

“Yes.”

“You need to redecorate then. Get some painters in or something,” Eggsy said firmly. “You're gonna be here for years and years.”

“Hmm.” He seemed to be considering it at least.

“I could bring your newspaper collection down from London if you like.”

“I appreciate the thought, but no. It's complete as it's going to get. Besides, I've rather broken my streak.”

“What streak?”

Harry held up the latest copy of _The Sun._ A picture of the impact the dragon's head had made on the road was on the front page with the headline _She's Back!_

“The streak whereby my actions don't make the front page.”

Eggsy grinned, “Maybe you should start a new newspaper collection then, for every time they do.”

“I certainly hope this isn't going to happen again,” Harry said, but he was smiling and Eggsy smiled back. Eggsy stepped towards him and Harry opened his arms and they sort of fell against each other in a tangle of coats and Eggsy heard the newspaper crinkle as Harry held it against his back.

“We did it,” Eggsy said. “Home safe.” It felt a bit hard to believe.

“Mm.”

Eggsy lifted his head, intending to kiss him, and remembered what he'd said the first time and frowned instead.

“What did you mean by you didn't have time to argue abut it?” he asked abruptly. “Do you want to argue about it now?”

Harry didn't answer him right away, instead examining the burns on his face.

“I thought I did,” Harry said. “I had a lot of reasons to try and dissuade you from this. They sounded very good in my head.” He lifted a hand and cupped Eggsy's cheek, his thumb resting on the corner of his mouth. “I've changed my mind. They were all terrible; foolish and cowardly, and insulting to think you hadn't already thought of them and discarded them.”

In truth Eggsy had given absolutely no thought to why this might be a bad idea; too busy caught up in the thought that it wasn't likely to happen at all but he nodded seriously and understandingly. He was down with skipping the all that stuff and getting on with the good bit.

The lines at the corner of Harry's mouth deepened in amusement and Eggsy didn't think he was fooled. He'd never been able to fool Harry and with anyone else it might have made him feel uneasy, but Harry wasn't much good at fooling him either, so they were even.

“So we're good?” Eggsy asked softly.

In answer, Harry kissed him. With no fear of sudden death hanging over them, it was slow and sweet and shallow, just lips and breath and Harry's thumb rasping at Eggsy's stubble. He sighed when they pulled apart.

“Are we going to get in trouble?” Eggsy asked. “We broke a lot of rules.”

Harry shrugged. “Oh, I dare say it'll work out.” He released Eggsy and gave him a mischievous look. “And if it doesn't we'll elope.”

Eggsy laughed, and before he could answer Harry was making his way to the kitchen.

“Now what meal are we supposed to be eating?”

“All of them,” Eggsy said fervently.


	29. Chapter 29

Harry made fried rice, great mounds of it steaming gently on their plates. Eggsy had helped, and together they’d chopped up a great many odds and ends from Harry’s fridge, and the end dish probably wouldn’t have been offered in any self-respecting Chinese takeaway but they fell upon it ravenously, barely speaking, and when they were done there was hardly more than a few grains of rice left.

Eggsy sighed happily and slumped in his seat in a manner that Harry would have felt duty-bound to correct if he didn’t know exactly how Eggsy was feeling because he felt the same way himself. Exhausted. Sated. Still not quite believing the mission was over.

He’d complained many times about having to be debriefed, regardless of the hour or any injuries sustained, but he knew it was an important part of letting go of a mission, regardless of whether it had gone well or not.

They didn’t have any of that this time. Merlin had called Harry’s phone, but merely to confirm that both he and Eggsy were in the house, and that they did not intend to go anywhere. Harry didn’t ask him for his opinion; he knew he’d get it in good time.

All they had now was each other, and Harry thought that might be quite enough, as he rested his tired eyes on Eggsy’s equally tired face. The burns looked worse than they were, he knew, blistered skin an angry red where Harry’s glasses had rested against it. Eggsy hadn’t complained but it had to sting.

They were lucky. So utterly, unreasonably lucky, that they could sit here and eat rice and look at each other. Harry thought he might never get tired of it.

It felt like they’d had dinner, even though it was only mid afternoon. The sunlight had been short-lived and Harry had turned the lights on as the clouds rolled in, which only heightened the impression of lateness.

Eggsy yawned, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he did so.

“I’d suggest an afternoon nap, but I feel it might turn into an early night,” Harry said.

Eggsy shrugged. “What difference does it make?”

“If you want to sleep by all means, the house is at your disposal.”

Eggsy frowned and then looked up at Harry through his eyelashes, “Am I staying in the guest room?”

“There isn’t a guest room.”

Eggsy perked up more than Harry thought was reasonable, and fuck if the sudden light in his eyes didn’t stir Harry’s blood a little as well. “Good,” he said, grinning widely. “I’m gonna have a shower. I’ve had a dog in me lap all morning.” He winked and strolled out.

Harry could not have given any less of a fuck about the dishes and he left them for tomorrow, making himself a cup of tea and sitting in one of the armchairs listening to the water run.

A little while after it stopped he heard the door open and Eggsy softly called his name.

He could get used to that.

“Yes, Eggsy?”

“Could you get the stuff I bought from the chemist, please?”

The bag was sitting on the kitchen table where Eggsy had left it, and without really thinking about it he looked inside. Someone was keen, he thought as he eyed off the condoms and tried not to feel too pleased.

“I wasn’t sure what exactly you wanted,” Harry said innocently as he knocked politely on the door. “So I brought everything.”

A great wave of steam rolled out as Eggsy opened the door. Harry raised an eyebrow as he handed over the bag, but of course, it was impossible to shame Eggsy and he only grinned.

“Well, any of ‘em would do. Get in, you’re letting the steam out.”

Harry hadn’t really intended to join Eggsy in the bathroom; he was still fully-dressed, for one thing, but Eggsy most certainly wasn’t and Harry found himself disinclined to argue, as he watched a drop of water trickle out of Eggsy’s hairline and down his neck.

He almost leaned in and licked it off.

Eggsy was dressed only in a towel, and while he wasn’t dripping wet he’d half-arsed the job, and his skin gleamed damply, his hair sticking up in wet spikes. He tried to clean the mist off the mirror and gave up when it fogged up again almost instantly.

“Would you do it please?” He offered Harry the only innocuous item in the bag; the tube of burn cream. Harry accepted it wordlessly.

They stood chest to chest and Eggsy tilted his head back to give Harry a better look at the injury. Harry forced himself to concentrate, and Eggsy closed his eyes as Harry started applying the substance to his nose.

He smelled like Harry’s soap, and there was peppermint on his breath, and Harry realised he was staring at the little moles on his face.

“I apologise if this stings,” Harry said softly.

“Nah, it’s good. Feels cool.”

Harry felt Eggsy’s breath on the inside of his wrists as he tried to be as gentle as possible with the burned skin. Eggsy didn't flinch. When he finished, Eggsy opened his eyes and gave him one of those glowing looks Harry used to try and pass off to himself as mere admiration.

“We could,” Eggsy said, and swallowed, and Harry let his hands drift down to his neck, felt it vibrate as he talked. “Move on to the other stuff, if you wanted.”

“We don’t have to rush-”

“You don’t know that!” Eggsy reached up and grabbed Harry’s wrists. “Anything could happen to either of us.”

“You want me to bugger you that badly?” Harry asked, demanding a response because he didn’t want Eggsy to just go along with whatever he wanted, out of affection or loyalty or worse, fear of future disasters that might separate them.

Eggsy stared at him in shock for a few moments while a blush crept down his neck. “Yes,” he croaked finally. “I’ve done it before,” he added. “Not with a bloke, mind you-”

“Eggsy,” Harry started before he’d worked out what he wanted to say, stopped, and started again. “As fascinating as that story sounds, I think you should be grateful we tested your loyalty rather than your seduction technique.”

“‘M not trying to seduce you,” Eggsy muttered.

“I know,” Harry said. He cupped Eggsy’s chin with both hands. “I just wanted to make sure you were certain.”

“I am. More certain of this than anything.”

“Then you shall have whatever you want,” Harry said, and he kissed him. Eggsy leaned up into him until Harry pulled back. “Now get out of here, I want to take a shower.”

Eggsy did as he was told, after snatching another kiss before he retreated, and telling Harry not to take too long.

“Otherwise I might fall asleep before you’re done,” Eggsy confessed with endearing honesty.

For the first time, the cottage was starting to feel like home, Harry thought. Eggsy was right; he needed to make it his place, rather than the safe-house he'd been treating it like. Some safe-houses were quite pleasant, but they weren't homes. He'd been thinking of the house in London as his home, but it was Eggsy's now.

He showered and shaved and looked down at himself, the way his skin hung a little loosely on his muscles nowadays, the grey in his hair, his cock thickening with anticipation. He didn't doubt Eggsy would like all of it, but part of him couldn't help but wish they weren't so far apart in age. As Eggsy had pointed out the gap would slowly close, but it wouldn't make Harry any younger.

He turned off the water and realised Eggsy had stolen his towel. He sighed and goosebumps prickled across his arms and legs as he stepped out of the bathroom to retrieve a towel from the linen closet. The bedroom light was on, but he couldn't hear anything.

He pulled on his dressing gown. It was only a few months old, and blue, and he missed his red one, but he had to admit it was warmer; less threadbare.

Eggsy was still awake, but it looked like it was a near thing. His (Harry's) towel was draped over the back of a chair and he'd snuggled down under the covers. When Harry walked in he blinked his eyes open.

“If you'd rather sleep we can leave it for later,” Harry said, padding over and looking down at him.

“Mm.” Eggsy pulled the covers back and lifted his arms invitingly. “Come here.” He hadn't bothered to put on any clothes.

Harry undid the sash on the dressing gown and let it fall to the floor before crawling in beside him. Eggsy blinked and forced his eyes to focus as he stared at Harry's body, following his gaze with his hands, trailing his fingers down Harry's chest and stomach, waiting until he was settled to roll into him, hooking a leg over Harry's hip and pressing his mouth to his jaw until Harry tilted his head down and kissed him back.

“Wanted you for ages,” Eggsy said, muffled against Harry's mouth.

“Yes.”

Eggsy got a good grip on him with his legs and rolled back, pulling Harry on top of him, needy and warm and hard as a rock already, his cock digging into Harry's stomach. Sleep was forgotten. Harry ran his hands over Eggsy's skin, so young and unmarked for the most part. It wouldn't stay like this; everyone gets injured on the job, and Eggsy would be proud of those marks when he got them, but for now Harry wanted to protect him from everything. He couldn't; Eggsy would hate it anyway, but he pressed his lips to Eggsy's shoulders, his chest his hands his neck, working his way down, wishing he had the sort of magic that could keep him safe and whole and free of pain.

Eggsy's abs flexed and he convulsed with laugher as Harry kissed his hip.

“Ticklish?” he asked, Eggsy squirming as his breath ghosted across his skin.

“Yeah, stop! Haha.”

Harry did. He crawled up Eggsy's body, and looked down at him, propped up on his hands.

“Of course.”

“Oh,” Eggsy blinked up at him, still smiling. “Are you ticklish?”

“Back of my knees,” Harry said. “Don't tell anyone.”

“And give them a reason to try and get their hands on your knees? Of course not. You might lash out and kill them accidentally.”

“If I did it wouldn't be an accident,” Harry said and Eggsy laughed, this time unforced.

They smiled at each other, Eggsy looked so relaxed and happy, and it was hard to believe, hard to breathe. He was so beautiful.

Eggsy wrapped his arms around Harry's neck and pulled him down and now that the initial shock of the other's sheer presence had worn off they relaxed a bit, Eggsy tracing old scars, flexing his fingers into the meat of Harry's back muscles, pulling him down, like he wanted Harry to smother him.

Harry reached down and grabbed a handful of Eggsy's arse and Eggsy rolled his hips up obligingly.

Harry sighed against his neck. Eggsy had bracketed his hips with his thighs, and Harry's cock was firmly pressed into the crease from Eggsy's groin to his hip and every time Eggsy moved Harry could feel it, pressure when he rolled his hips up, and drag on his foreskin when he pulled back.

“Is this enough?” Harry asked, his lips brushing Eggsy's pulse point.

“No!” He sounded so vehement Harry lifted his head up to gauge his expression. “I mean, if you don't want to it's fine but,” he licked his lips. This is important to him, Harry realised. And he didn't want to say why, but Harry guessed it was something to do with that 'I've done it before but not with a bloke.'

“I do,” Harry breathed. “You have no idea. Just look at you, how could I not?”

“Just look at _you_ ,” Eggsy retorted, a little breathlessly. “So are you gonna fuck me?”

“As much or as little as you like, my dear,” Harry said, kissing him again. They'd long since worn the taste of toothpaste out of their mouths; he tasted like nothing, like Harry himself.

Harry managed to detach himself from Eggsy's embrace and sat up on his knees, shrugging off the bedclothes. It was getting too hot under there anyway.

Eggsy smiled up at him and squeezed Harry's legs between his knees. He wasn't shy at all, his eyes bright, his chest heaving and his lower lip between his teeth, now Harry wasn't within reach to nibble on.

“You want to turn over for me?” Harry asked.

“For you, anything.” Harry was relieved Eggsy was already turning over when he said that, because he wasn't sure he could keep the effect of those words from showing on his face, spy or not.


	30. Chapter 30

Eggsy clutched the pillow to his chest, his head and shoulders hanging over the top of it. He'd tried to rest his head on the pillow and Harry had seen him wince and pull away as his burns touched the pillowcase. He'd been about to suggest a different position when Eggsy had shuffled the pillow down and braced himself, his arse in the air.

Harry was wondering if it wasn't for the best that he lived in the countryside now, because Eggsy was _noisy_ and Harry didn't know why expected anything else of him. He gave constant and gratifying feedback, and wasn't shy to say if something was 'weird' or ask for Harry to wait a moment.

Harry was glad of it. He was out a practice and he knew it, and in learning what Eggsy liked, he was relearning what he was capable of giving him. He sat back on his knees, loosening Eggsy up, playing with his cock and watching him squirm and twitch against the sheets, listening to him giggle and gasp.

Harry's cock eventually got the message that it was surplus to requirements, and started to go soft, but Harry was enjoying himself too much to care particularly. He wanted to give Eggsy the time of his life.

“Harry,” Eggsy said, having mustered the wherewithal to be coherent. “I miss you.” He lifted his head and looked over his shoulder, braced on his elbows.

“I'm right here,” Harry said.

Eggsy shook his head and Harry could feel him tense slightly and then forcibly relax around his fingers. “Please give it a try?”

Harry only had to stroke himself a couple of times to get hard again. Eggsy lowered his head and waited, splayed out before him while Harry put on the condom and slicked himself up. Harry kissed up along his spine, tasting salt as he knelt over him, and Eggsy turned his head so he could see him smile as he watched out of the corner of his eye.

Harry didn't have to worry about hurting him. He knew Eggsy would say, and he did say, his eyes wide as he asked Harry to 'umm wait,' the head of his cock barely breaching him. Harry knew Eggsy wasn't teasing him deliberately, but he supposed it was fair karma for fingering him for so long. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on breathing, and waited, his head bowed over Eggsy's shoulder blades, his heart hammering.

“Yeah okay.” Eggsy's voice sounded rough, even though he was speaking softly. “Do you like it?”

“Yes, of course I do,” Harry replied. “My darling, you're perfect, you're perfect.” Eggsy reached up for him, awkwardly bending his arm over his head and trying to find him. “I'm here.”

“Closer,” Eggsy demanded. His breath hitched when Harry pushed himself further in, but he didn't ask him to stop. He managed to get his fingers in Harry's hair and pulled at him gently until Harry was sprawled on top of him. He braced himself with his arms over Eggsy's shoulders and Eggsy reached for his hands, lacing their fingers together, Harry's larger hands almost covering Eggsy's. He pressed his lips to the back of Eggsy's neck, his shoulders.

“Are you all right? I don't want to smother you,” Harry said.

“It's fine, please.” Eggsy pulled his arms in a little, asking to be hugged and Harry did so. They were barely moving. “Is that all of it?” Eggsy asked, sounding, Harry had to admit, rather hopeful.

“More or less.”

“Wow.” He opened his mouth, twisting his neck back for a kiss and Harry gave it to him, could deny him nothing.

Eggsy hadn't asked him to move but Harry had to shift to move his foot into a kinder position and even that much was enough for Eggsy to gasp and convulse a little under him. His grip on Harry's fingers tightened.

“More?” Harry whispered.

Eggsy nodded but didn't let him go. Harry was stretched out over him, resting flat against his back and arse and thighs, and Eggsy clearly didn't want him to put any distance between them. With almost no leverage, he could only move shallowly, his hips doing most of the work.

It was strange and intense, and Eggsy finally fell into almost silence, only his breath and the odd whimper making out from between his parted lips. His eyes were shut, and he frowned as if in concentration, and eventually Harry closed his eyes too. He could feel every breath expand Eggsy's ribcage, and every twitch of him around his cock. Harry wanted to submerge himself; he understood what Eggsy had meant by 'closer.' They couldn't get close enough.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that; time lost all meaning, his heart was aching, differently to the way his knees ached, his back ached; his cock ached too, desperate for more.

And then Eggsy was trembling underneath him suddenly, his grip on Harry's fingers painfully tight and he sucked in a huge breath and held it and let it out and tried again, and Harry realised Eggsy was this close to coming untouched and Harry bit down on his shoulder as the knowledge caught him up, made him shudder as well.

Eggsy croaked out his name and Harry held his breath and then couldn't. Eggsy squeezed him, and came with a stuttering moan and Harry could feel his entire body tense like a bow string, curving underneath him despite Harry's weight.

“Eggsy.” The voice didn't sound like his, but it had to be. He didn't think he could sound so broken, but he was, and he was coming, breathing into the back of Eggsy's neck, teeth bared against his skin.

“Ohh, I felt that,” Eggsy said, and melted into the bed beneath him for a moment before twitching back. “Aw gross.” But Harry wasn't moving and Eggsy didn't have the strength to move him and he flopped back into his own wet patch and they just breathed for a while.

Eggsy gradually loosened his grip on Harry's hands and winced as he unkinked his fingers. Harry took that as a sign he should probably not nod off with his cock still up Eggsy's arse and he backed off, feeling joints creak and muscles protest as he did so.

He gave Eggsy an affectionate pat and shuffled over to the side of the bed to take off the condom and find something to clean up with. He found some tissues and tapped Eggsy on the arse to indicate he should roll over.

Eggsy didn't move at first, and when he did he kept his face turned to the bed. He was crying.

“Eggsy!” He felt a cold shock to see how Eggsy's shoulders shook, and his stomach clenched in guilt and fear.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” He snuffled and rubbed at his eyes and then stopped when he touched the burns.

Harry put his arms around him, “Did I hurt you?”

“No. It's stupid.” He forced a laugh through his tears. “I dunno why. Maybe it'll happen every time I get fucked in the arse.”

“It's a perfectly natural physiological reaction,” Harry began.

“It's not,” Eggsy said, in a voice that booked no argument, and Harry didn't ask, just held him, drawing the blankets up over them both; he'd wash the sheets tomorrow.

“You died,” Eggsy said eventually. “'N I was fucked by a princess. I dunno why. She asked and I said yes.”

“It's fine, Eggsy. I wouldn't expect you to remain celibate.”

“It's not that. You _died!_ ” he wailed and wiggled his arms out from where Harry held them at his sides and wrapped them around him. “I missed you so much.” He stopped fighting it then; he put his forehead to Harry's collarbone and cried, his breath hitching.

“I know you did. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,” Harry found himself whispering into Eggsy's hair. “My poor darling.”

“It weren't your fault.”

Harry knew that; he didn't feel guilty for dying, but he was nevertheless sorry that Eggsy had gone through so much on his account. He lowered himself down to the pillows, pulling Eggsy with him, and just let him cry it out on his chest, his own eyes stinging a little. He couldn't promise he wouldn't do it again, and he didn't try, he just tried to comfort him.

“I love you,” Eggsy said. “I think.”

“I know I do.” If he hadn't he wouldn't have done this, no matter how much Eggsy might have asked. You couldn't fuck someone like that and have it just be a fuck. He wanted to push his heart into Eggsy's chest, have him keep it.

Eggsy lifted his head up, and looked into his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, and finally he smiled. He flopped back down and pressed his smile to Harry's chest, and his breathing slowly evened out again.

The rest of England was in rush hour; the roads would be clogged with endless streams of cars. People would be cooking and drinking and arguing and doing homework and working late or going home early; the night had only just begun.

In Harry's house, it was almost over. They'd fought and won and fucked and cried themselves out in victory celebration, and the atmosphere was hushed and peaceful. Eggsy yawned and apologised for making a mess and Harry shrugged and asked him if he wanted dinner. They spoke in low tones, their heads together.

“Nah, feels like we just had lunch.” Eggsy rubbed gently at the hairs on Harry's chest with his thumb. “Tired anyway.”

“Come on, get up before you nod off on top of me,” Harry said. “I need a piss.”

Harry threw on his dressing gown and Eggsy padded around naked, completely ignoring the clothes in his bag, which was still sitting in the living room. They'd been gentle with each other; Harry hadn't left any marks, and Eggsy's skin glowed in the overhead lights as he took his turn in the bathroom, but they both moved like they were old; gingerly, with the odd wince. I did that, Harry thought. He asked me to, which was even better. He watched Eggsy bend over the sink to wash his face and Harry only realised he was staring when Eggsy noticed in the mirror and smiled at him.

Harry went around the cottage making sure all the doors were locked and turning out the lights as he went. When he came back to bed Eggsy was already there, the blankets pulled up to his chin.

Harry turned off the bedroom light, startled as he often was by how _dark_ it got out here. Back in London there'd always been enough light to see by filtering in through the curtains. Here he'd done a lot of stubbing his toes when he first moved in.

He shrugged off his dressing gown and felt his way to the bed, his fingertips brushing Eggsy's arm as he pulled back the covers.

Eggsy wiggled back, giving him room, and Harry sighed as they slotted together again.

Eggsy didn't say anything, but Harry could feel he wasn't relaxing.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Hm. I was thinking,” Eggsy said. “Like if I don't get kicked out of Kingsman.”

“I wouldn't let them do that. They'd have to kick us both out.”

Eggsy chuckled, “It might not be your call. Even if your Merlin gives the okay, I think mine's pretty mad. But like, if it is okay.” Pause. Here it comes, Harry thought. “I want to be Arthur one day.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Like you said; Kingsman's gotta change and I've seen both sides now. I'm not supposed to but now I know. And, you know, in a few years when I'm all distinguished like you-”

“Is that a euphemism for 'old', Eggsy?”

“It will be if you don't let me finish.” He scraped a fingernail across Harry's nipple and he dutifully fell silent. “If I become Arthur, I'm gonna pick the smartest, fastest, toughest, best person ever to be Galahad, and so when I die, we can both be wizards.”

Harry sighed, “Eggsy-”

“I just want that.” He squeezed him closer.

“You'd make a fine Arthur,” Harry said. “In a few more years.”

“Oi.”

“Eggsy, we could get eighty years, we could get eight months. It's the nature of life, not just Kingsman.”

“I know.” Harry knew he did. He knew it better than most, ever since a stranger had given him a medal.

“You are more than enough, Eggsy. Every moment is more than enough. One thing I learned as a Kingsman; the moment matters. Now matters. Seconds matter. And right now-”

“Is brilliant,” Eggsy said, and Harry felt him relax. “It really is.”

“I'll be here tomorrow morning, you know.”

“Yeah. 'M still gonna make a kickarse Arthur though.”

Harry kissed his forehead, and thought that he probably would, although he might be biased, given the circumstances.


	31. Chapter 31

Eggsy could hear a phone ringing. It echoed through the fleeting remnants of a dream and then he was jostled to some semblance of wakefulness by the arms that had been wrapped around him letting him go, and the leg moving from between his ankles. He was in a soft, unfamiliar bed that nevertheless smelled like home.

Ah yes, Harry's bed.

He heard Harry swearing softly and then he was gone, a warm, empty space in the bed where he’d been and Eggsy remembered what he was doing here and smiled. It was morning, he realised, when he heard birds chirping outside. It was fucking surreal out here in the country; he felt like he was in one of those kiddie shows that Daisy watched. No one woke up to birdsong in the real world, surely.

It couldn't be that late; they'd gone to bed ridiculously early and he wasn’t the type to sleep in; between the Marines and Daisy and his own grief-wracked nightmares he’d lost the knack for it, if he’d ever had it.

Early then. He hoped there was no need to move just yet.

He heard Harry’s hurried footsteps in the hallway and then the ringing mercifully stopped. Eggsy lay there, keeping himself from falling asleep again, just in case some new emergency would drive them out into the cold. He heard Harry’s voice but couldn’t make out any words.

Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been urgent because Harry returned via the bathroom, and when he came back he shrugged off his dressing gown and climbed back into bed.

“Who was it?” Eggsy asked sleepily, as Harry arranged himself around him again.

“Oh, just Kingsman rubbish,” he said. He kissed Eggsy’s forehead. “Nothing important.”

Eggsy smiled and hugged him and drifted off again. Harry seemed to go right back to sleep, but Eggsy merely dozed, reliving recent memories and basking in the warmth of Harry’s body.

His arse was sore, he discovered when he shifted around. Tilde had used one of her smaller cocks (she had a whole set in a little leather case; even at the time Eggsy felt his horizons were being expanded, and he supposed this was what they called cultural exchange) but Harry hadn’t had that option. Eggsy didn't mind, however. If anything, the opposite. If he thought about it he could summon the sensation, of being covered and surrounded and filled with Harry. Just thinking about it made him hard, as did the sensation of Harry's soft cock resting against his leg.

Eggsy felt like purring.

Eventually his bladder drove him out into the relative chill of the bathroom, and while he was up he found his watch and realised that it was nearly ten. No wonder he was feeling hollow and hungry. He padded back into the bedroom and watched Harry sleep for a while, his arms extended into the space that Eggsy had recently vacated.

“Hey,” Eggsy said, kneeling down on the quilt and flopping over the mound Harry made in the covers. “I’m pretty hungry, you know.” He nuzzled Harry’s unshaven cheek and Harry blinked up at him.

“Are you going to make us breakfast?” he asked innocently and Eggsy laughed.

“I see how it is. If I do will you get up?”

“I suppose. What time is it?”

“Ten-ish.”

Harry sighed with satisfaction. “I haven’t had a good lie-in since I died, you know? Although a _really_ good lie in would go until eleven.”

The idea of lolling around in bed doing nothing for that length of time made Eggsy’s skin itch, but Harry’s wistfulness was endearing, and he ruffled his unruly hair, so soft and curly without any styling. He wondered if he could get Harry to leave it like that on days off.

“Well, you can stay there till it’s cooked then. You didn’t use all the eggs on the rice, did you?”

“I don’t think so.”

Eggsy left him to his lie-in and Harry called out a thank you as he went to find something to wear.

He was still frying the eggs when Harry emerged in his dressing gown, still sleep-rumpled and yawning. Eggsy poured him a cup of tea and he hunched around it with a fond smile.

“So what was that phone call about?” Eggsy asked, retrieving the toast from the toaster.

“Oh that. You’re to go back where you belong; the tailor shop, but they’ve got some things for you to pick up first. It looks like we got away with the whole thing.”

“I should hope so,” Eggsy said, setting a plate in front of him. He sat down himself and sighed. He’d sort of hoped they’d have a bit more time; a day or two to themselves at least. “What happens to us now?” he asked as he watched Harry salt and pepper his eggs. “I’m not supposed to know you’re alive.”

“Well it’s a bit late for that.”

“Yeah, but like, I want to see you again. I'm not just gonna let you go.”

Harry looked at him in surprise. “Well, why would you?”

“Because you’re a wizard now, and I’m just a Muggle. I don't even know where this place is.”

Harry smiled and started eating. “I don’t live in an enchanted forest, you know. You can visit me any time you like. I’ll write down the address for you.”

“Oh. I can?” Eggsy had been picturing Harry's world existing in parallel with his own; it was difficult to reconcile the things he'd seen and done in Harry's company with the world he'd lived in for over two decades.

“Eggsy, is there any force on earth that could stop you?”

“Nope,” he grinned.

“We might have to send each other letters, you know. I'm allergic to phones now, or rather, they're allergic to me.”

“Will do- uh, can you address the replies to the shop? Mum’s gonna get all suspicious if I start getting love notes.” He realised the thought of receiving letters, written in Harry's scrawling hand, tangible and real like no phone call or email could be, was something to look forward to. Old fashioned and romantic, a bit like the way he thought of Harry himself.

Even with these arrangements in place, Eggsy wasn't in a hurry to leave. They ate a leisurely breakfast, catching each other watching as they ate. Kingsman rubbish could wait, but they couldn’t put it off forever. Harry said he’d probably be in the country for the next little while at least, as the Kingsmen needed some time to meet and debate, and all but the most urgent missions would be put on hold.

“Technically I'm still on probation anyway.”

They did the washing up shoulder to shoulder, and Eggsy got in Harry’s way while he tried to get dressed, stealing swift kisses that were avenged with slow ones.

In the end they went to London in the Jag, after Eggsy wrote Letizia a fervent and polite note of thanks, and handed both it and the knife to Harry for posting. They also collected a large stack of books and papers from the travel agency in Harry's village.

Eggsy was delighted by Harry's cover story and immediately wrote himself into it as the wealthy heir of a client forced to keep their relationship secret. Harry indulged him, and they elaborated on dramatic and unlikely twists to the tale all the way to London.

Harry helped Eggsy unload the stack of books and papers into a pushcart, just a block from the Kingsman shop, and they stood and stared at each other for a few moments.

“I'll see you soon,” Harry said. “Let me know how everything goes at the shop.”

“Will do, Harry.”

It would probably be reckless to draw attention so close to the shop by kissing goodbye and so Eggsy just stood on the footpath and watched him drive off.

They pulled weapons on him in the shop. Of course they did. Eggsy had his hands in the air before they could tackle him to the ground. The tailors examined his cargo and frisked him down and removed all his gadgets and guns before he was allowed onto the underground train to HQ.

Merlin was waiting for him.

“It is so good to see you,” Eggsy said, unable to hide his relief and Merlin didn’t smile back but he did nod.

“What's all this?” he asked, nodding at the stack of books one of the tailors was unloading from the train.

“This is what was stolen from Arthur's office. It's for Arthur's eyes only.”

“Care to tell me where it was and who stole it?” Merlin asked.

Eggsy took a deep breath. “I can’t. It’s a secret. Get Arthur to read this stuff. It'll explain it; sort of.”

Merlin didn't try an interrogate him. Instead he sighed and put Eggsy in a cell and after a medical attendant visited to treat the burns on his face, Eggsy stayed there, waiting, for two whole days before he was let out and escorted to Arthur’s office by a tech. She wasn't obviously armed, at least, and Eggsy took that to be a good sign.

Merlin was waiting for him, sitting behind Arthur's desk with several of the leather-bound books piled up to one side and his clipboard tablet on the table in front of him.

“Are you Arthur now?” Eggsy asked.

“Someone has to be,” he said. “Besides, I was curious as to what was in these books, and the knights had been at me for days to accept the position.”

“Congratulations.”

“Very kind of you. Do you know what is in these books, Galahad?” he asked.

“I haven’t read ‘em, but yeah, kind of. In general terms.”

“I see. Obviously I can't discuss them with you, but answer me this: are we in danger?”

“Not any more. Not any more than usual anyway. Percival's been avenged.”

Merlin met his eyes for a long moment, but Eggsy was confident, well, mostly confident, that he couldn't actually read his mind, even if he appeared to be trying.

Eggsy was aware of floating lights at the corner of his vision, and when he blinked they didn't go away but rather coalesced into a faintly luminous form, leaning against the wall behind the new Arthur.

“He can't see me, don't worry,” Tristan said. “I just want you to pass on to the others that Arthur's library is not unprotected, even with the passing of the old guard.”

Eggsy blinked in response.

“Thank you, Kingsman. Safe journeys.” Tristan smiled and faded from view.

“Eggsy, are you paying attention?”

“Sorry. Could you repeat that?”

“I said, I don't believe disciplinary action is required,” Merlin repeated, looking slightly exasperated. “You are hereby reinstated on full duties and I advise you to give Lancelot a call when you're free next; she's been worried about you.”

“Really?”

“Do I need to say it a third time?”

“No Mer- er, Arthur.” That was going to take some getting used to.

“Welcome back, Eggsy,” he said more softly. “Now get out of here; and start thinking about your proposal for the Percival position.”

Eggsy did as he was bid and retrieved his belongings from the shop. He texted Roxy and they arranged to meet later, and she promised not to ask him questions he wasn't allowed to answer. Then he called his Mum and let her know he was back, safe and sound, and that he'd be home for dinner.

He went to a house that he was beginning to feel was his, now that the previous owner had a new abode, and he went up to the study to start taking down the newspapers while JB celebrated his return by trying to trip him up at every opportunity. He stacked the headlines carefully in a cardboard box, knowing he'd go back to look at them sometimes, but the walls were his now. And that red was a really weird colour, now he thought about it. Maybe he should get the painters in; make the place feel like his.

Some time later, he bounced Daisy gently on his knee as he sat at the kitchen table while his mum cooked and caught him up on what had happened while he was gone, and asked his opinion on the Loch Ness Monster thing. He told her he thought it was probably just the ground settling, as he started drafting a letter.


	32. Epilogue

If he was asked if he believed in magic, the man formerly known as Merlin would have rolled his eyes and called it bollocks. He'd worn the name of a wizard for many years, but his magic came from solid scientific principles, superb multitasking, and a lot of funds for R&D. In all his years, he'd never seen the slightest evidence that anything of a supernatural nature was remotely possible.

At least, until a few months ago.

When he'd come to with a dart in his neck and Percival's death burning painfully in his recent memory, the first thing he'd done was have the blood on the floor around him sent to the lab to find out whose it was.

Later, he spent a good five minutes alone in his office, staring at Harry's profile picture and the word _Deceased_ that headlined his file. He ran the sample several times to double check. Then he carefully erased all trace of the incident from the records.

When Eggsy said they were in danger, Merlin believed him.

He'd since read the books that had been stolen from Arthur's office, and attempted some surreptitious experiments with chalk and spit. They didn't work, but conveniently they weren't supposed to; not until after he'd died, apparently.

Things did change after that. Most notably, the gossip mill (there wasn't a singe spy agency in the world in which gossip was not rife; that's practically what spying _was_ ) was given something juicy to chew on when Eggsy acquired a secret admirer. Notes and little presents started showing up at the shop, and Eggsy was awfully careful about putting his glasses away before opening them.

The current most popular theory favoured an older woman in New York, but Roxy was convinced he was seeing an accountant in Wiltshire, of all places. Merlin said nothing at all.

Whoever they were, they clearly made him happy and he was just relieved the young man he'd known before Harry's death was starting to come back.

A couple of months after everything started to settle down, Eggsy asked him for a favour.

“I know it's short notice, but I need some time off. A friend of mine is, uh, going to a ball. And he needs a mask.” He looked him right in the eye.

He gave him the time off, and told him to be careful. Eggsy came back in one piece a few days later, and he was so relieved, although he couldn't have said exactly why. Arthur's books didn't always make a lot of sense to him; the authors clearly struggling at points to put things into words.

Eggsy wasn't as bad as the old Lancelot had been with the glasses, but he did tend to keep them off until absolutely necessary, and the former quartermaster got in the habit of keeping an eye on him over CCTV when he took a turn as his handler. Every so often, in an airport or train station or expensive hotel, Eggsy would see a stranger, never the same one, a man in a suit and glasses never on any databases Kingsman had access to, and he'd pick him out of a crowd and bound over to him and the new Arthur would smile and shut off the feed for a few hours.

Did he believe in magic?

Of course he bloody well did.


End file.
